Memory's Like a Time Machine
by TheGirlWhoImagined
Summary: Ollie Lee once remembered a person telling her that the paranoid lived longer. But with monsters lurking around every corner, hidden in every shadow, skulking upon rooftops above, will her "paranoia" truly keep her alive? And what of a certain consulting detective? What if he discovers her secret? Will he save her in time or cause her demise? OC/Sherlock
1. SIP:The Man Upstairs

This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy P.s. if you're wondering what Ollie looks like she's on the image above :)

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Musty. Dark. Remote. Quiet._ I'll take it!_ That had been Ollie's prompt response when she was shown the dreary basement apartment three weeks ago. She could have taken a number of different places, most more favorable and in far better shape than this one, but this place was perfect for what she needed. It was neatly nestled in a quaint residential area, there was a cafe above with free WiFi and a couple restaurants scattered within a ten block radius. There was also plenty of foot traffic outside so there was always a cab on hand. But, more importantly, it was hidden within plain sight and out of the way. Plus, the land lady took cash no questions asked.

Of course, as she was lying there on the antique mustard couch she had hastily purchased from a flee market, staring at the water stained ceiling above, she was beginning to wonder if she'd made the right choice in living arrangements. Now, it wasn't because of the slight disrepair, that could easily be fixed, no, it was because of the man upstairs. He had moved in only four days prior and already a myriad of people had stormed out of his apartment screaming her, on may occasions, out of a dead sleep. Needless to say she hadn't slept a wink in those four nights. At first she had thought he might have been a serial one nighter, but with the amount of traffic bounding through she realized he must have be looking for a roommate. After all, she didn't think anyone could have that much sex and not die. It was around that point in time her bored mind, as Ollie hadn't really left her pier de ter since moving in, began to imagine what type of person had sent people thundering down the stairs at all hours of the day. The longest anyone lasted was two. And two wasn't a reference to days.

Even she felt like throttling the man that she'd never met herself; but figuring out what kind of person he was and imagining what his life was like had been the most fun she'd experienced in weeks. So she had shelved the agitation and anger for quite a while. Well, that was until now. Now it burst fourth like a proverbial Pandora's box all because that damnable man had been playing his violin since one in the morning. It was currently ten a.m. Ten! Her lack of sleep had finally caught up to her. So much so that Ollie, her mind degrading from the missed sleep, started eying the handgun strapped underneath the coffee table precariously, contemplating wether or not to discharge it into the ceiling. The only reason she didn't complete that action was because she was afraid her landlady would get hit in the crossfire, lucky for the man upstairs. As the noise continued it's assault upon the ears she was starting to understand the motivation that drove some people to kill over an idea as mundane as sleep.

Suddenly a sharp note screeched as the crescendo of music abruptly ended. Ollie immediately sat up, watching the ceiling above warily. Was it a trick? Was he really finished? Or, had she by some sudden, miracle gone deaf. Heavy foot steps pounded down the stairwell as a door slammed shut above, the shutter of force reverberated all the way down the heating vent. One closer, probably the front door, slammed soon after. Ollie sighed loudly falling back into the warm embrace of her couch. The man had left. That was good, meant she could finally catch some much needed Z's.

Eyelids heavy with the weight of too much use, she snuggled into the cushions, to lazy to move to her bedroom. If she was lucky he wouldn't come back for at least five hours. If she was really lucky she'd get a proper sleep. Then she could get back to her guessing game. Eyelids fluttering shut she slipped into sweet black oblivion.

_Slam!_ Ollie's body jolted at the intrusion of sound, violently ripping her from the void of REM. Looking around blearily she found herself face down on the floor bringing her to the safe assumption that she had rolled off the couch at some point during her blissfully dreamless sleep; a testament to just how tired she must have been as she didn't awake from the fall. Miraculously, her head hadn't hit the coffee table.

Pushing herself off the red oriental rug she staggered over to the attached kitchenette. The stereotypical cat clock that she, for some reason, found so amusing told her it was eight. "Man, haven't slept like that since I left my comfy corner of the world."

Ollie groaned as she realized what she had done. _Great now I'm talking to my self. The first signs of insanity have officially begun. _Of course, as she peered around the room, she knew it wasn't the first one to become present in her current living situation. Then again, her sanity had always been in question even before her current arrangement. Now it was just more apparent.

Books upon books were scattered and piled everywhere on any subject she could get her hands on. Papers littered the floors, their material ranging from pop culture to scientific reasonings to conspiracy theories. She dreaded the thought of anyone entering her bedroom. They'd probably think her a serial killer. Thankfully, she never had to worry about that as she never brought anyone home, let alone to her bedroom. Not that it really mattered, she hardly used the thing now adays.

Opening the fridge she peered in noticing the lack of food and drummed her fingers against the door in thought. When was the last time she ate. 3:03 PM. It was a Wednesday. She had a danish with a sprite. The man behind the counter had shamelessly tried to get her number as his wife glared from the kitchen. She had also ordered a soup but due to the husband's indiscretions she didn't trust the wife to have not spit in it. Three pounds and nine pence wasted.

She frowned at the thought of remembering such small and insipid details. The curse of a superior autobiographical memory. Shutting the door with a hefty clunk she scratched her stomach absentmindedly, emitting a loud yawn. Maybe she'd try that Chinese food place nearby or the Italian. Although she'd have to change beforehand seeing as she was still in a black sports bra sport short combo. The one she'd been wearing almost all week. What! She still showered, she just hadn't gotten around to doing the laundry. Stripping she threw them haphazardly into the living room as she made her way to the bedroom. Papers crunching underfoot.

Walking through the doorway she glided over to the dresser, rooting through her draws to pick out some plain black undergarments that allowed optimum mobility and comfort. There was no point in picking out any of the sexier ones she'd stuffed carelessly in the corner, shameful gag gifts from past birthdays, since no one ever saw her underwear. Why she kept them she'd never know. Pulling a pair of faded jeans from the top draw she paired it with a white tee and a green Victorian styled jacket laying on the floor. She sniffed the aforementioned clothing first to make sure they weren't ripe. Satisfied with the smell and choice of her clothing she hand combed her blonde jaw length hair in a quick grooming attempt. When she was about halfway decent she slipped on her red converse before hastily shoving her keys and wallet into her coat pocket. Striding out of the basement she reached the top of the staircase just as two men went rushing out the front doors; just barely catching a glimpse of their coattails. Must have been her upstairs neighbors, either that or the man's chased out two more possible roommates. Which seemed highly likely given his current record.

"Oh! Miss Lee," a pleasant elderly female voice called out, "you just missed the boys. They were here not two seconds ago, but they'll be back later. I'll have to introduce you three. It'd be good for you to get out once and a while. It's not right coopin' yourself down there all the time, you'll drive yourself mad. A young lady like yourself should be out socializing."

Ollie turned around to see her landlady making her way slowly down the staircase, her bad hip impairing her descent, smiling at the blonde as she approached. She rather liked Mrs. Hudson. The woman was all together agreeable and friendly; reminiscent of a motherly figure. But the unfortunate circumstances of a motherly type was that they will always, always, be concerned about your comings and goings. Something that should have been foreseen when Ollie had moved in. Even though she found it to be an endearing quality. Smiling awkwardly she pointed backwards towards the entrance, "Your right. Thats why I'm just about to go out for a bite. Down the street to that Italian place. You know, to socialize and...stuff."

"Well, you have fun then deary. If you want I could tidy your place up a bit for you, while your gone. In case you bring home company," Mrs. Hudson asked moving towards Ollie's stairs. Vehemently she shook her head, "No, but thank you for offering. I don't believe I'll be bringing anyone home, but while I'm out is there anything I can bring back for you?"

Mrs. Hudson politely waved her off. "Oh don't worry about me dear. Now off you pop to make friends and have fun," she said while gently pushing Ollie towards the door. She tried to turn around but Mrs. Hudson wasn't budging, the elderly woman was surprisingly strong for her age. "Are you sure I can't get you anything It'd be no trouble at all?"

She patted Ollie's shoulder as the door began to close, "No need for that, now you go and have a good time. I better not see you again till later in the evening. Shoo, off you go."

The door clicked shut behind her. The blonde shrugged, needing to get out anyways, and joined the foot traffic walking on the sidewalk before her. The place she had mentioned wasn't that far anyway, five minutes easy. If she was honest with herself she enjoyed the feel of the neighborhood. It was very ascetically appealing. The brick and stone homes gave a very rustic Victorian atmosphere. She could almost picture horse and buggy clip clopping down the street. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but stopped when she saw an executive pass by talking tersely on his cell. Right. She wasn't there for vacation or fun. She was there for business. Nothing more.

Ollie pulled her phone out to send a quick text to a man who owed her a favor: to check if he'd gotten what she asked for._ Hy._ _N2no u ggft?. _Send. Ollie scowled at the stupid text speak she'd been required to use, but she couldn't be too careful. After all, you could hack into anything nowadays. Even though it wasn't that hard to translate in the first place it was necessary. That fact led to the need for burner phones. It was also pertinent to ditch them after a few days, wiping it of all contents, then giving it to some homeless person so anyone who tracked it would be mislead. Unfortunately, it left a burning hole in her wallet as she'd have to buy another burner soon after and banks were a no go in staying under the radar. Thankfully she had some cash stashed away in odd places.

Her phone pinged just as her destination had come into view. _Ggft. Wnw? _(all texts are translated at bottom). Ollie restrained herself from an enthusiastic air pump as she sent a text back. _22 _NUmbrlnd_ st. Tbl42, nw. _She all but skipped into the restaurant only to pause briefly as she wondered about the establishments seating policy. Did she sit herself or was she escorted? With a mental shrug she decided to take the initiative upon herself, Ollie could always apologize if the latter was the case. Looking around she spotted a deep mahogany table secluded in a corner that met her checklist with a 360 degree view involving cover. _Perfect_.

With a hurried step, she slipped into the seat facing the door just as a waiter walked over. He was big and burly with kind brown eyes, the type who seemed to stay positive if his laugh lines were anything to go by. He was also rocking the bald top with a long ponytail in the back do, brave choice for someone his age. One she'd only seen one other man wear. A dear colleague she hadn't been in touch with for a while. He smiled down at her, handing over a sleek menu, "Will it just be the lovely lady for the evening?"

Ollie looked up with a smile, all the while making sure to hold herself as girl on a date would, "No, my boyfriend should be arriving soon. But with his work he'll probably end up cutting our date short. They always seem to be calling him away. So if I could have an empty container with my order I'd appreciate it. I don't want to have him starve. He's always forgetting he needs food while he's working."

The man grinned happily, pen and pad in hand, "Well, he's a lucky lad. Not most girlfriends would put up with such behavior. Would you like to order anything while you wait?"

"Sure, could I have the...spinach manicotti, a sprite and a Cioppino in a to go cup?"

"Those are wonderful choices. I'll get them for you right away," he grabbed the menu winking. At least the service there was nice. She would have made it her usual but unfortunately routines were a dangerous luxury, so she'd have to savour her meal when it came. Ollie scanned the other patrons, scrutinizing their every detail and movements. There were a few couples scattered here and there, chatting amicably or flirting ruthlessly. None appeared to be a threat. None of them had the slight bulge of concealed a weapon, but one could never be sure. Knifes were easy to hide. She paused on an empty table in front of the window clearly marked as reserved. Odd, why reserve a spot when there were more than enough left. It wasn't exactly packed or busy. A plate of spinach manicotti slid in front of her as a candle was placed on the middle of the table. Ollie glanced up at the man and smiled. Looked to her that the man was a closet romantic. He placed an empty container on the side and proved her theory, "Thought you might want a candle. Add a little romance."

"Thank you. It's lovely."

"The Cioppino will be out shortly," he nodded and walked over to another table chatting up the elderly couple before taking their plates. Yeah, this would have been her new usual. A gentle breeze flitted across her table, playing with the candle light. Ollie looked up as a man with a slight build entered the establishment. Door swinging shut behind him. He wore a fitted H & M brown coat which wrapped around a black tailored suit. In his gloved hands he clutched a pink gift bag with white tissue paper sticking out, a white bow adorned the side. He glided across the room, his chiseled features grinning in poorly concealed mirth as he spotted something that caught his attention. Grey slate eyes twinkled in amusement. Striding across the floor on a mission he plopped himself down at the seat across the mysterious blonde.

"Who would think after all theses years I'd be the first man to get a date with the Ollie Lee. And here I thought you didn't do romance," the man's southern drawl floated across the table. Ollie rolled her eyes, talking in a hushed tone, "Oh, you wish this was a date Roman but this isn't some pleasure cruise. I'm here on business."

Roman's face fell slightly as he took a serious scan of her persons. "Yeah, I heard something about you up and disappearing after your last job. Been off the grid for the last six months, people are beginning to worry _and_ talk. So what happened that turned the finder into the hider? Because if it's anything to do with this gift I got you then I'm thinking you've got in a little over your head."

Ollie cast a glance around the room, making sure no one was listening in or watching them from any vantage point before answering. With a fork she played with her pasta, all the while checking the room every few seconds casually. "Did you tell anyone that I'm here? Listen Roman this is important did you tell anyone you've seen or heard from me. Because if anyone knows-."

"Don't worry bell, I ain't told a soul. Figured if you were callin' in for a favor it'd be somethin' you'd want on the down low. Besides I owe you one," he said blowing an air kiss with his mouth. Ollie stifled a chuckle as not to encourage him. If she did he'd never leave. "Good. And I'm sorry but I'm gonna need you to drop something off for me," opening the empty container she placed a few pieces of garlic bread inside it along with a small note in a napkin and a usb stick, "there's an address in there. I need you to drop that off with the person on the note. They'll know what to do with it. Just tell them that flamingoes fly south, they'll know what it means. It's sort of an odd inside joke. Don't ask."

Leaning carefully across the table she whispered into his ear, "Now, after I give you a peck on the cheek to subjugate this date ruse to any who are watching I'm gonna call you discretely with my phone. I want you to answer it, pretend you've got a business call, and state you have to go back to the office. Remember to pretend to apologize. And should you take the container and deliver it for me, the next time we see each other I just might let you take me out to a real dinner."

She pulled away giving him a kiss on his whiskered cheek, she smirked as she resumed her previous position. Under the table she discretely pulled out her phone hit the only number on her speed dial. Roman gave a sexy smirk, eyes crinkling in mischief. Ollie didn't trust that look. _'I'm to sexy'_ suddenly belted off loudly from his pocket, drawing unwanted attention to them. Not that it mattered as they were well versed in improve acting. He answered, "Hello this is Mark Owens. Oh, of course. No. Not at all, I can do that for you right in the morning...what? Well I'm sort of in the middle of something...right, yes. No, of course I'll be there in twenty. Alright, thank you mister Greyjoy."

He promptly placed the phone back into his jacket and picked up the container with his free hand as he stood up. He leaned towards her, "Sorry babe, but the boss just called, he needs the Granger case on his desk by ten. I promise to make it up to you later in the boudoir. I really hate to eat and run, but if we want to make partner I'm gonna have too go."

Before she had time to process he leaned in and stole a quick kiss. Ollie's eyes turned to the size of saucers as he swaggered away smugly. She really should have seen that coming, the man's face practically screamed at her that he was up to something. And given his clear interest it should have been rather obvious. Quickly putting her mask back into place she asked for the check just as two men walked in claiming the reserved booth. Interesting. She decided not to pay them much heed as she was leaving and they were just arriving. Though upon observation they did make a cute couple.

Paying her bill and leaving a generous tip on the table she shuffled a few more bites into her mouth before briskly walking out into the cold London night. Letting out a sigh of relief she gazed down at the gift bag excitedly. _Happy birthday to me! _It might just be the break she was hoping for or at least some more evidence. Ollie'd been investigating for six months, trying very hard not to cause any waves and spook her objective. Which was very hard for her as she had unusual methods and was never one for cloak and dagger. That was more of her brothers thing. But what she held had may just be the lead she was looking for. The absolute factor of proof or connection necessary in bringing down her prey. Then she could move onto other more fun things as her compulsion wouldn't allow her to deviate from her current objective. At times it could suck to have a compulsive disorder.

Shaking herself out of thought she realized she was back at 221 Baker Street. Excitable glee threatened to bubble over as she thought of the prospect of the bags contents and how she was not even seconds away from looking at it. Opening the door quickly she almost ran across the foyer to the basement staircase. Mrs. Hudson popped out of her apartment. Ollie stopped mid stride. "Sorry Mrs. Hudson I know you told me not to come home till late in the night, but my date ended early so I thought- are you all right? You look like you've been crying."

Mrs. Hudson sniffed as she waved her off, "No, I'm just a tad out of sorts. The police are searching the upstairs flat looking for drugs. It looks like Sherlocks made a mess of things. They just came barging in, trashin' the place."

Part of Ollie wanted to help, since she liked Mrs. Hudson, but the other part of her refused to relinquish control of her mind from finishing the task at hand. Her eye started to twitch as an internal war raged on wether or not to help and by some miracle Mrs. Hudson won out. Maybe her condition was starting to improve if she could deviate for just a couple minutes. "Mrs. Hudson did they have a warrant by chance?"

She shook her head, "No. They just came bargin' in."

"Did you give them consent to come in?"

"No, I don't believe so."

Ollie clapped her hands on her shoulder happily, "I can have them out in a jiffy then. Come along then Mrs. Hudson. Lets kick out the mean police and save your favorite tenant."

"Oh, I don't pick favorites. I like you all just the same."

"Don't worry, I don't mind. I wouldn't be very good if I was your favorite."

Ollie bounded up the stairs two at a time, till she reached the apartment above. Peering in, it closely resembled her own in the craziness factor. _Hmm_. _Maybe Mrs. Hudson was right and they would get along. _She shook her head. No. She wasn't in Britain to make friends. She had a job to do. She could make friends later. Ollie cleared her throat, "Excuse me but I'm gonna have to ask you to leave as you haven't produced a warrant nor were you invited into the residence. So if you would kindly make your way off the premises till you've procured such a document it would be advisable as to avoid a lawsuit. As of right now Mrs. Hudson is within her right to excise such a thing."

Most of the police officers stopped what they were doing as the one in the middle postured at the comment, each looked to him for orders. Clearly he was the one in charge._ Grey hair, in his mid forties, married-wait marriage on the rocks so their split, he's upset but it's not just with my outburst. No, he's upset because of the pink suit case he keeps glancing at. Interesting._

"I'm sorry but who are you," the man asked while approaching her. "I could ask you the same thing," Ollie scoffed. He pulled out his badge, "Detective Inspector Lestrade. Now again I'll ask, who are you?"

"I'm the tenant that lives down stairs. Now if you don't have a warrant I'll kindly ask you to get lost. Anything you may have found is fruit of the poisonous tree so it's inadmissible in a court of law so don't bother writing up charges or prosecuting," she stepped away from the door making a sweeping motion outwards. A female officer came walking through, "Sir. We tried getting into the basement but the door is locked. Do you want us to break it down?"

Lestrade waved her off, "No, just get the key from Mrs. Hudson."

Ollie's eyes widened in terror. She bolted into the stairwell. "You stay the hell out of my place! I haven't giving you consent to enter it and you don't have a warrant so don't even think about it," she sped down the steps thundering as she went. Two men looked up from the wall they were leaning on at the noise, Mrs. Hudson appeared worriedly in front of them. Ollie managed to seem apologetic as she turned towards her apartment, "Sorry Mrs. Hudson I tried to get them to leave but they're now trying to get into my apartment. If I don't stop them they'll move all of my stuff around and I'm very particular about where I put things. They'll ruin my system. Just threaten them with a class action lawsuit for unlawful search and seizure without warrant or consent. I'm sure they don't want anymore bad press so they should back off. And what ever you do don't give them my key!"

Racing down the stairs a thought occurred to the American. Quickly she popped her head around the corner to address the shorter blonde man, "How was the Italian Ribollita by the way? I was thinking about ordering it next time."

The man looked confused and slightly disturbed, "How do you know what I ate?"

The other man, who was of slighter build and taller, gave his partner a droll stare. His black curly locks framed his nicely structured features, causing his bright baby blues by effect to appear more shocking. Of course, on closer inspection, from the way he held himself she knew who kept sending people screaming from the upper floor. His good looks must have made them think he'd make for good company but his air said he was blunt, rude and hyper observant with a sharp honesty. Yeah, she could now see why people kept running from out of his place. His qualities equated for a lack of social politeness and untactful comments, one his other half clearly made up for. They definitely made for a good pair. The man in question seemed to be sizing her up as well, most likely deducing his own assumptions. "She was there at the restaurant. Her date had left abruptly for work in the middle of their dinner plans. A lawyer with his eyes on a corner office and partner. Break up with him immediately. He's cheating on you. With multiple women. A visit to the Doctors would also be wise, as you might have contract something from your sexual encounters."

Blondie bristled by his side, surprised and appalled by his lack of tact, "Sherlock!"

Ollie waved the man off, "Don't worry. I appreciate his honesty. Besides I have nothing to worry about. But, I'll have to get your answer about the food later as your roommate's just run off to stop the needles destruction of your apartment."

"Right," he went to run after Sherlock but stopped to lean over the banister, extending an arm towards her, "I'm John, John Watson by the way."

She grabbed his hand and shook it, "Ollie Lee. Nice to meet you."

He smiled then headed back up leaving Ollie in the company of Mrs. Hudson. She sighed demurely, "Well, I had hoped I'd introduce you three over tea and biscuits. He's really not bad. He's really quite remarkable that Sherlock. And John seems quite lovely. I'll have to get you all together when this awful business is over with."

A knock at the door interrupted Ollie from politely declining her offer. Mrs. Hudson furrows her eyebrows, "Now who could that be at this hour?"

Ollie's body tensed as her reflexes immediately went on high alert. The cops would have just entered, no point in them knocking as they already occupied the upstairs. She wasn't expecting anyone and neither apparently was Mrs. Hudson. While the men upstairs had just gotten home there would only be a slight chance they would've invited someone over but seeing as they had plans earlier that evening that line of reasoning was slim. Who ever was behind the door could possible be bad news, though with a battalion of police upstairs any would be assassins would be foolish to try something. Of course with the crap Ollie had gotten herself into it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that they would be so bold. Which is why she was treating the disturbance like a threat. Those who are paranoid lived longer as they say. "Here," Ollie stated, "let me get it."

Cautiously walking over the person behind the door knocked once more. This time with increased force. Bracing herself she pulled it open just a crack. A short stubbly man dress in what could only be described as grampa clothes with a british driver cap on his head lay behind it. Not exactly assassin material but his harmless look would be the point if he were. The man, probably in his late sixties, wore small rounded glasses but the eyes underneath were what alarmed her. They spoke of a cold intelligence she instantly recognized from years of experience. _Crap_.

Ollie plastered on her best fake smile she opened the door a little more, "How can I help you?"

"Sorry, the door bell wasn't workin'. I'm here to pick up a Sherlock Holmes. He called for a cab," he twaddled, playing the same game as her, and mimicked her own fake smile. She strained to keep her's up but managed, "Oh, I don't think so. He just got home you see and is in the middle of something. Why don't you come back later mister..."

He didn't bother to fill in the blank with his own name, instead choosing to ignore it. "Oh, but I think you'll find that he did. Why don't I go fetch him?"

"No," she curtly replied moving to shut the door, "I really don't think that's necessary as he clearly didn't."

"Oh, but I must insist," he said while, _politely,_ pushing his foot into the door jam. _This man is an imbecile, _were the thoughts of the basement tenant. She couldn't believe he'd risk entering with Johnny law under the roof, but if he wanted to be caught so bad who was she to argue. "Fine," Ollie tightly relented opening the foyer fully to him, "but he'll just tell you he didn't."

The man's smile took a more sinister look as he strode past her, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Slowly he walked towards the stairs and Mrs. Hudson, who apparently hadn't heard a word the two had spoken to each other, led the way asking him her own set of polite inquiries. Ollie wondered if she should follow to help but reconsidered the action. From what she gathered about Sherlocks personality and her landlady's stories he should be able to take care of the cabbie himself. He should spot what that man really was a mile away or at least have his suspicions. That cab driver obviously thought himself to intelligent to be caught.

Ollie looked down noticing her foot rapping unconsciously against the floor. Right. No more distractions, she might die if she were to wait any longer. Racing across the foyer and down the stairs she hurriedly unlocked her apartment, closing and securing it behind her. She practically ripped the bag open once she made it over to her bedroom, slamming the door shut with her foot as she went.

Pulling out the contents, a shiver of excitement made it's way up her spine. She sucked in a sharp breathe of air as her eyes hit the contents. Inside was a bushel of portrait sized surveillance photos. A couple of prominent figures were circled in red, names and information written on the backs. Ollie's eyes danced with harsh delight as she pinned them onto her wall. The web of conspiracy growing, forming, taking shape around her. Wrapping a thread of red string around the pin she began weaving it to other pictures and articles in the room that had connections with each other. She was halfway to the other side when a stampede of feet were heard descending the stairs above. She stopped midstream as she pulled and readjusted a pin. Guilt nagged at the fringes of her mind. _Maybe I should go and check on Mrs. Hudson, see if she's alright. It'll only take a sec. I can pop in, ease my conscience and then get back to business. It's not like it's going to walk off while I'm gone._

Satisfied with her internal reasoning Ollie walked out of her place closing it behind her. As she quietly reached the first floor she spotted the last officer disappear through the front. _Good riddance._ Turning, Ollie ascended to the second floor and not a sound was made upon the old creaky steps as she was naturally light on her feet. Popping onto the upper floor she noticed the lack of key players in the room. John being the only one left. She gazed around to see if maybe Mrs. Hudson was stashed away somewhere but she clearly wasn't in the kitchen. "John, did Mrs. Hudson go back down stairs?"

He jumped slightly in surprise and fright at the sudden sound. Clearly he was under the impression that he had been alone and would continue to be. Blowing out a puff of air, hand to his rapidly beating heart, he nodded. "Yeah. She went down right after Sherlock."

"Thanks." Ollie went to leave but John appeared troubled, sullen even. His momentary distress caught her attention. _Come on Ollie just leave it be. It's not your job to help everyone with their problems. Deal with your own first. Besides, he's a grown man I'm sure he's fine. _John frowned at an empty spot on the wall, a little hurt, maybe even conflicted. Knowing she wasn't the cause she could hammer a good guess who was considering who he roomed with. She suppressed the urge to sigh at her own conscience. Damn that thing. Always getting in the way.

"So did Sherlock go with the police to interrogate that cabbie," Ollie asked touching a few of the papers on the desk near the door. Her eyes quickly scanning the text and soaking the information in. John appeared confused and admitted as such, "No. Why would they be interrogating the cabbie?"

"Oh," Ollie shifted uncomfortably as she realized her mistake, "well, I just assumed by the way Mrs. Hudson talked about Sherlock that he would have noticed that the man was a serial killer. Or at least had the traits of one. I'm not sure if that had anything to do with what you guys were up to but...actually-what exactly are you guys up to? I mean Mrs. Hudson may have mention something about suicides in passing but-"

"Wait!" he shouted cutting her off, "Why do you think the cabbie was a serial killer? Why would you assume that?"

"The same way I know that your an Army Doctor and that Sherlock is some form of Detective. Are you telling me he didn't notice."

John looked incredibly confused and surprised at the same time, if not a little disbelieving. _Bleep. Bleep. Bleep._ The laptop behind him let out a noise for attention. The screen lighting up. John grabbed it with an urgent swipe. What ever was on the screen caused him to become freaked as he quickly sped out of the room. Oh well. Seemed to be allot of action going on in that house on that particular evening.

* * *

After John had raced out of his apartment Ollie had a chat with Mrs. Hudson. Getting the gist of what had been going on for the past few days. Apparently there had been a string of murders throughout the metropolitan area that were cleverly disguised as suicides. And Sherlock had been helping the police catch the killer and John was his newly acquired assistant. Which cleared up some of her earlier questions. No wonder it had been like grand central station earlier. It also explained the reason why John had rushed out of the building when he had. Not that she told Mrs. Hudson that. No need to worry her after all.

After they confabulated a little longer, and Mrs. Hudson suggesting she date the nice doctor, Ollie had managed to excuse herself. Her compulsion becoming to much to handle and she didn't wish to snap at the poor woman. She hated herself for it to. Because of it she'd never lead a normal life. Her mind wouldn't shut off and it was so focused on one specific thing she couldn't handle another till it was finished. Unfortunately her mind didn't focus on tasks like painting a picture or finishing a book. No. It was more like finding something. A bit like unraveling a mystery. Sometimes it was as simple as finding a guitar someone lost during their youth. Other times it was a little more difficult like finding a person that'd been buried alive with an explosive to ensure their death if someone were to remove them.

But once her mind became interested in a mystery she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. And there have been times when she'd really wanted too. Like right about now for instance. Because Roman had been right, she was a little in over her head. Not that she'd ever tell anyone. But there was nothing she could do about it, she was already in to deep to be able to safely extract herself from the situation. Ollie only hoped when it was all said and done she'd come out of the darkness alive.

Leaning against the cold yellow tilling, warm water cascaded down her face from the shower head above, she reexamined all that she'd learned in the last six months. Moving over every detail with surgical precision. If no one had caught on to her probings so far it wouldn't last much longer. She was in the home stretch and it was one of the most dangerous stages. Her compiling of information was bound to be noticed as those who came before her were taken care of much sooner in their investigations. Unfortunately she couldn't act just yet. She was still missing one important player. _The_ player in fact. The whole reason she was on the odyssey of madness to begin with. A noise emitted from her living room thrust her out of thought.

_What was that?_ It couldn't be Mrs. Hudson, she didn't come down there. Ollie had made sure she understood not to. The logical assumption, an intruder. _Fuck_. Someone must have been tailing Roman and followed her home. She couldn't believe she'd made such a careless mistake. Silently, she slipped out of the shower, making sure to leave it on as to not alert the infiltrator. Cautiously she made it over to the toilet and unhooked a gun hidden behind it. Being careful to not let any water drip onto the weapon.

Taking a deep breath she positioned her self by the door, one hand hovering over the knob. The other tightly gripping the firearm. Sending out a silent prayer to the universe she ripped the door open and aimed her glock, both hands on the hilt; with only a second to assess the situation. Her mouth fell open. _What the fuck? _

There, sitting in her living room, was a calculated man dressed in a form fitting suit. Legs crossed and arms tucked onto his lap. He stared boredly, albeit a bit flustered in her direction. His associated dropped the figurine he'd been holding, it smashed to pieces on the floor. A deep vibrato cut across the room, it's owner piercing her with their heavy gaze, "How did you know?"

Ollie's gun clattered uselessly to the carpet. She had not been expecting them.

* * *

**Text translate:**

_Hy._ _N2no u ggft? _Hey. Need to know you got gift?

_Ggft. Wnw?_ Got gift. When and where?

_22 st. Tbl42, nw. _22 Northumberland Street. Table for two, now.

I'll probably be writing these 3,000 words min. a chapter. Can anyone guess who's in her living room :) Ten points and a high five to anyone that does :)


	2. SIP:The Woman Below

This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A_nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any. Also sorry it's a little short._

**aandm20: **_Hooray i have succeeded then :) high five for getting it right btw!_

**TheGirlWhoWaited: **_Mwuhaha more plushies :) thx for liking it._

******W.I.T.C.H.******** :** yes you may have some more :) and High five you got it right :)

**nhaquyen: **thx, i'll try and update more even if they are a little smaller in word count :)

**all we require is everything: **glad you enjoyed it. I read yours by the way and i love it so far :)

* * *

What does one do when they're surprised. Well it all depended on the person and circumstances behind it. Some people cry. Most scream. Others laugh. Many swear. A few faint. A couple run. But Ollie? No, she didn't do any of those things. Not in that case. In that case she hastily grabbed the nearest items to hide her lady parts. Which happened to be a Cosmo magazine, oddly enough it's main article on sex embolden across the cover, and a thick manual on computers. She then returned to stare at her intruders all the while attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance about the whole situation. As if she didn't much care about coming into her living room completely naked and soaking wet to find two men in her home. Like it happened all the time. Note the sarcasm.

Ollie tried very hard to keep herself from blushing as she found two pairs of eyes raking her form. One trying to analyze, the other trying to look anywhere than where they really wanted to look. The latter cleared his throat, "Um...why do you have a gun?"

She shrugged, "I'm a single woman, living alone. In the city. Statically speaking I'm more likely to be victimized. Case in point. So why wouldn't I have a gun."

He rubbed the back of his ash blonde head sheepishly, "Sorry, maybe we should come back later."

"That would probably be best," Ollie smiled sarcastically.

"John, sit down," the taller man commanded, "Miss Lee I believe I asked you a question. How. Did. You. Know."

"Sherlock, for god sakes she's naked!" John exasperated with a violent hand gesture, "At the very least let her get a towel."

Annoyed and bored all at the same time the consulting detective rolled his eyes and fell back into the couch with a huff. "Fine! But be quick about it. I don't have all day."

Resisting the urge to flip him off she backed up into the bathroom shutting the door with her foot, trying as she could not to slip on the tilling. It wouldn't be great if she cracked her skull, she already had enough brain damage for one life time thank you. Ollie walked over to the shower shutting it off before grabbing the large white towel hanging on the rack beside it. Quickly drying her hair she wrapped it around her, bracing herself against the sink. She should have just kept her mouth shut earlier. Rapping her fingers against the cool white porcelain in thought a million different scenario's flew around in her head. The only way for her to pull the wool over Sherlocks eyes so to speak would be a carefully placed lie based on some form of truth. It was the only way she could fool an observant man such as him. Which meant she'd have to reveal a bit of herself in the process. Or...or she could let him know what she was really doing. Let him help. Two minds were better than one as they said. But the more people she involved the more likely things would end badly. For them and for her. After all to many cooks in the kitchen. She shook her head sending a few remaining water droplets flying across the room. No. She couldn't do that. She couldn't pull anyone else into the line of fire. Not again. Not after last time. No, it was better this way. It was her crusade after all.

Rubbing her face with a groan she caught her reflection in the mirror and frowned. She'd lost weight. Enough that it was beginning to become noticeable. And her blonde hair had thinned a little bit as well. The stress, lack of sleep, and poor diet were finally catching up to her. She was gonna have to start herself on a better daily regiment. Like one that involved eating regularly. Rolling her shoulders back and fourth with a pop she mentally prepared herself. Hoping he wasn't the one person in the entirety of the world that could actually see through her. Well, second person.

When she opened the door she found that Sherlock had moved from his spot on the couch to rifling through her things. John looked up at her sudden appearance like a deer in head lights. From his positioning she could tell he had been attempting to stop his flatmate with little luck. Ollie's eye visibly twitched when she noticed he'd moved some of her papers and books around, ruining her system. "Hey! Were you raised by wolves or something? You just don't go riffling through peoples stuff. Have you no manners."

He scoffed but didn't halt his search, "The same could be said for you. It's rude to keep guests waiting. You have a very wide array of reading material by the way. What exactly do you do for a living?"

Ollie walked over ripping the latest medical journal out of his hands and placed it back in its designated spot. "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly invite you now did I," she clipped, "So technically speaking you're not guests. And as of currently I'm not doing much of anything."

Sherlock glided up to her, a pinky finger of space between them, and the american could feel the full brunt of his steely gaze bore down into her. A lesser mind would have squirmed underneath it. Luckily she was not. Instead she glared up at him stubbornly, not backing down. It was clear he trying to get a rise out of her to knock her off balance and reveal more than she was willing to. She knew this because she herself was quite good at doing the same to others. But he had the clear advantage of height and being fully clothed at the moment. If she tried to gain the upper hand she might end up playing hers and fall right into the trap. His eyes squinted with a cold analytical scrutiny, "You're hiding something."

She resisted the urge to smirk at such an open ended statement. "Everyone's hiding something Sherlock. Even you."

"Yes, but I'm always able to tell what that is. You're very good I'll give you that. But I'm better," with emphasis on the '_better_' he, with a twist of his hand, ripped the towel off and defrocked her. Ollie's eyes almost popped out of their socket as it took her a moment to register what he'd just accomplished. John yelled from across the room making a grab for the towel to re-cover her virtue, "Sherlock!"

Said man watched as her armor began to crack and wither. Yes, he was finally getting somewhere. Granted the approach had been rather crude, but it was fast and effective. Of course what he should have been watching was her fist colliding with his face. Because there was one other way people reacted to surprise, one he hadn't seemed to take into consideration. He stumbled back form the force and shock, falling over a pile of books. Ollie tried to re-wrap the towel that he had dropped in his state and bounced up and down and around waving her now injured hand in the air as she did. "Ah-god!" she shouted, "What the hell! Does-ah-does he have metal plating in his jaw! For christ sakes! Gaaaah! My hand, God dammit!"

John rushed over to Sherlock plastered to the floor. The man lay there unmoving, eyes fallen shut. Bending down the doctor checked his pulse looking over his shoulder to Ollie with a mixture of pride, awe and amusement. "I think you knocked him out."

"Good."

* * *

Time ticked by with incredible sluggishness. Even the air in the room seemed to be stagnant. Of course that wasn't the actual case as molecules were in reality rushing around at an incredible pace that was unseen to the human eye, but the feeling was there. Finding himself awake back in 221B, Sherlock rested languidly in his chair with an iced bag of fingers resting against his jaw. Apparently it was all he had in the ice box. He glared across the room at the woman, who bruised not only his face but his ego if only just a little, that sat in the chair directly adjacent from him. Now clothed in skinny jeans and a white tank top wrapped in a blue coat, he watched as his roommate fretted over her hand, wrapping it with gentle care. She winced in pain as he applied some alcohol to the few cuts that bloomed from the force of the hit on her knuckles. Good, he hoped it hurt. She glared at him when she caught sight of his smirking directed at her pain. "I think you broke my hand," Miss Lee scowled.

His smirk only deepened at that, but said nothing as to cause her more frustration. If he pushed the right buttons he could still get what he wanted. And since his last case was over he would now have a lack of stimulus to keep his brain from rotting. So the small mystery that sat across from him, most likely not worth the effort he so graciously alloted her, would have to do till something more interesting came along. And he didn't see her giving up quite so easily so it should occupy a good amount of time. After all, she had surprised him. He hadn't thought she'd punch him. Slap him yes, scream and cover herself maybe, but punch him? No. And rarely did he ever find himself on the other end of surprise.

_That's twice this week now, _he thought. First John. Now her. He must be having an off week. It was exactly the reason why he needed constant cerebral stimulus. He'd rather not fall into monotony and have some criminal out smarting him because he'd gotten slow like the rest of the witless human race. So she would have to do in a pinch. After all he had to do something in between experiments and cases.

John stood up with his first aid kit examining his work. Satisfied with his labors he moved towards the door, casting an amused glance back at the others, "Don't worry it doesn't look broken. Just banged up a bit, that's all. I would've put some ice on it for you but since all we had were the fingers in the freezer, which I still don't understand why they were there, I'll pop down to Mrs. Hudson and see if she has some. Till then I suggest you both stay in your seats. As much as I find Sherlock getting knocked out funny, I'd rather not have to pick him up off the floor again."

Sherlock waited till he no longer heard John's footsteps on the stairs to zero in on the brutish female american. Just because he'd gotten a bit off topic hadn't meant he'd forgotten. Now with the voice of propriety out of the way he could proceed how he wished. "How did you know?"

She didn't seem to surprised by his question, but he did notice her shoulders tense ever so slightly. She obviously didn't like his particular line of inquiry, something about it had to do with what she was hiding. To bad. She lifted a delicate eyebrow up as if it were obvious, "Squeaky couch."

He gave her a droll stare. He hadn't been talking about how she knew they were in her flat. That had been rather obvious. No, she knew exactly what he was referring to. She was just trying to avoid the answer, had he been John she could have gotten away with it. But no, she was dealing with Sherlock Holmes and he was to intelligent to be so easily distracted by something like guilt. He possessed no such emotion. "You know very well that's not it. Don't insult me. I'm talking about the cabbie."

She was very persuading, he had to give her that. Miss Lee pulled off every body language and movement associated with being confused very well, but he had caught that flash of quiet panic quickly dance across her amber eyes; before she had pulled her guard firmly back into place. He could almost hear thoughts of '_what do I do now_' flit from across the room. _Typical_. She shrugged, "What about the cabbie?"

Answering a question with a question. He rolled his eyes at the rookie move. "You're avoiding the topic, quiet poorly I might add. So I'll rephrase the question for you since you insist on playing the imbecile. Something that has to do with the kids at school picking on you at a young age, likely due to your higher intellect, so you've dumbed yourself down to fit in. Something you still do apparently. So how did you know the cabbie was a killer?"

She paused as if weighing her options, thinking. Well, that was good. At least she wasn't exactly like the rest of the population, even if she played the ruse that she was. Though she could end up being just as boring. Only time would tell however. Miss Lee shifted further up in her chair having finally figured out what to say, "I know from experience as I've been around a lot of serial killers. It's something to do with the eyes and it's not something I could accurately describe with science. It's just instinctual."

Sherlock had immediately dissected her words and movements the moment she started her charade, finding her statement to ring true. So the question was where would she encounter serial killers in her day to day life. He knew he was that much closer to her secret when she unconsciously bit her lip. "You're not a cop. Nor a prison guard. But you work with serial killers, a psychologist? No, you said around, not with. I'm close, I can tell. So not a psychologist but something similar. Ah, I see it now, FBI. But it's something a little more specific than that," Sherlock leaned a back into his chair and smirked, "Oh, so that's it. You're a profiler. How interesting. I haven't met one of you yet. So what are you doing all the way over here in London? Not exactly in your jurisdiction is it."

It was at that precise moment that Mrs. Hudson decided to walk into his flat with a tray of tea. John trailed behind her with the bag of ice. Miss Lee slouched in relief as John blocked him from view thinking herself safe. "Here this should help. If it gets to cold I can get you a towel for it," John smiled. Sherlock sighed at the interruption, as Mrs. Hudson handed him a cup, "Sherlock what happened to your face?"

John's smile grew even wider as he plopped himself down on the couch, "Ollie happened, that's what."

Mrs. Hudson walked over to her to give her a cup as well. She shook her head reprovingly tutting, "Ollie! I know he can be a bit irritating and hard to deal with but you should never resort to violence."

"But he pulled down my towel defrocking me and broke into my apartment while I was showering. Look what his face did to my hand," Ollie protested. Mrs. Hudson rounded on Sherlock and he had the presence of mind to appear sheepish. Ollie wondered amazed at the hold the small woman had over him. "Sherlock," she smacked him on the arm, "that's horrid. I can't believe you. I hope you apologized."

Silence rang out as everyone watched him. A smile played upon basement tenants lips as John eyed him expectantly. Sherlock said nothing and instead he brought the tea to his mouth. Just as his roommate was about to reprimand him the door bell rang. Mrs. Hudson grabbed the empty tray, "Don't worry I'll get it just this once. Remember I'm not your house keeper."

She trotted off leaving the three wallowing in continued silence. A quiet battle of wits transpired between Sherlock and Ollie as both refused to look away from the other first. As the staring match commenced John tapped his fingers on his knees at the awkwardness of the situation. The room grew with intensity as time moved on. And so to elevate it he decided starting up a conversation, might fix the atmosphere. Or he would have if Mrs. Hudson hadn't hollered up first, "Ollie, there's a package for you at the door. They need you to sign for it."

"I'll be right down Mrs. Hudson," she yelled back without looking away. Ollie grabbed something out of her pocket all the while not breaking eye contact with Sherlock. Next thing he knew a rubber band smacked him on the other cheek forcing him to blink from instinct. She smiled victoriously standing up. "That's cheating," he stated stoically. She grinned walking out of the room, "I don't believe we ever agreed upon a set of rules."

"You never did say why you're here," Sherlock called after her. Popping her head back into the doorway Miss Lee smirked coyly, "I thought it was obvious. I'm writing a book."

With that she barreled down the steps two at a time with hurried retreating pace. Sherlock clasped his hands in front of his face in thought. She had lied, that much was obvious. But why? He secretly smiled to himself. For now he would let her escape. Tomorrow however was another matter entirely. John frowned at him, "I don't like that look on your face. You're up to something."

Sherlock smirked, "And apparently so is she."

* * *

Thanks for reading :) P.s. I also have a Sherlock community for Oc romance stories so if you have one just let me know and i'll add it in. I made one because it can be very hard to find them, so i hope it helps. P.s.s. after this chapter I might just jump straight into the banker idk yet :) Thoughts?


	3. BB:Pleasant threats and funny meetings

This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A_nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

_**aandm20: **Thanx for checking it out :)_

_**88dragon06:** __Good, I worry about accidently making them OC. I'm glad you liked it. Those were my favorite parts too :)_

_**all we require is everything: **Sweetness! :)_

_**W.I.T.C.H : **Don't worry i like crazy long reviews that ramble amble :) they're fun. sorry that it's not long but it is a little longer that the other one, but I promise next chapter to be as long if not longer then the first chapter. :) And for some reason the editor won't let me put in your full username, idk._

* * *

It was quiet. An unsettling kind of quiet. The kind of quiet that came right before the man upstairs made another obnoxious attempt. Which was why Ollie finished rigging a booby trap to her front door. It was harmless, in the sense it wouldn't kill him, but it would render him unconscious. She found her new approach had become necessary. Over the past few weeks, Sherlock would pick her lock and force his way into her home. Luckily each time she had been there in the living room. He was trying very hard to unearth her secret. A few times he'd even gotten close. Which was why she was now taking the precaution of a well placed booby trap. The man was a force to be reckoned with, he was almost as bad as her when it came to finding the truth. And everyone back at home thought _she_ was mental. She wasn't the one with a bunch of fingers in their freezer. She'd even seen the man smuggling in some more late last night. Where the hell did he keep getting them from anyway? Was there a bunch of people walking around with no fingers or something.

Satisfied with her makeshift contraption she grabbed her yellow coat lying on top of a pile by the door and finally headed out, locking up behind her. Couldn't let him think anything was different or he might catch on. She smiled to herself, if she found him later on her floor passed out she may laugh so hard she just might pee herself. When she got into the foyer however her smile faltered. Sherlock was dragging a sihk warrior down the flight of stairs, smacking the mans head on every step, his Arabian like robes dragging underneath. He noticed her just as he reached the bottom. "Do I even want to know," Ollie asked.

"He wouldn't take no for an answer," Sherlock stated in his usual monotone. She lifted an eyebrow, "I see that."

They just stood there in the hallway for a couple of seconds with nothing more to add. _Now wasn't this pleasant, _Ollie thought. Deciding it would be the optimal time to leave she proceeded to put one foot in front of the other. "Well, I'll just be leav-"

"Grab his legs."

Ollie paused. Staring at the man like he'd grown another head. Did he really just ask her to help him. "I didn't realize we'd moved from neighbors who annoy each other to neighbors who help move unconscious men out of their apartments."

"I didn't hear a no."

True he didn't hear a no. In fact, she was going to help anyways since Mrs. Hudson could walk in at any moment. There was no reason to stress her out more than usual. Sherlock did that enough as it was. No, she just felt like annoying him a bit. It had quickly become a favorite past time of hers since he had made it his. Ollie waved her hands in fake surrender, "Fine, but if you're gonna dig a hole and bury him you'll have to get John to help you. I'm pretty sure that's a best friend activity."

"Dually Noted."

Hefting the mans legs up she helped drag him outside. Some people passing by stopped and watched the spectacle in curiosity. Even a few tourist snapped a couple of photo's near by, for what reason she had no idea. Sherlock hailed a cab that happened to be passing by and to Ollie's astonishment it actually stopped. Opening the door he shoved the guy into the back. "Oi, mate. Is e' alright," the cabbie asked. Sherlock was quick to respond with a lie, "He's just knackered. One to many brews last night I imagine. Just bring him to Heathrow."

"Alight but shouldn' e' ave' luggage?"

"Sending it through the mail," Sherlock stated. The cabbie looked unconvinced. Seeing that this might end badly, like with police, Ollie pulled out her wallet. She smiled handing the man two fifties. "Here, to make sure he gets there on time."

The man instantly smiled accepting the pounds, nodding his head enthusiastically, "Yes, ma'am."

The car sped off leaving the two standing in the street. People scattered going back to their lives as the show was now over. Funny how two people carrying an unconscious man went undisturbed. Not a single person stepped in to make sure nothing hinky was going down. A crime could have been committed and not a single person called 911. Although in Britain it's 711, or is it 999, whatever it's basically the same principal. Ollie only hoped if she were ever to get kidnapped on the streets someone would do something. Or at least call the authorities. "Are you going to stand in the road all day," Sherlock inquired from the safety of the side walk. Rolling her eyes she joined him, "I didn't realized you cared."

"I don't. It's just that if you get hit, getting a cab will be near impossible as they'll section off the road as a crime scene."

"The women must love you," she scoffed next to him. He shrugged nonchalantly, "I don't care for sentiment so it wouldn't matter if they did. Now lets hurry before John gets back."

"What? To ashamed to be seen together."

"No. We have to set the flat back to it's original attire."

"We? I'm sorry but when did this become a 'we'," Ollie motioned between the two of them. He stared at her as if she'd just asked a stupid question, "When we became neighbors."

Ollie laughed. "Sorry. Nope. Not my problem. Thats all you buddy. I'm not your maid," she started backing away from him smiling, "I don't think I could quite pull off the outfit."

He looked her up and down pausing deep in some thought, "No, you probably wouldn't."

She should have been appalled or at least a little bit upset that he agreed, most women would, but Ollie didn't really concern herself with normal female woes. She was just mouthing off as usual. And it was nice. She would never admit it to him but she enjoyed verbally sparing with the man. Being as sarcastic as she wanted was great. Because lets face it, she hadn't felt like herself for almost seven months. Ollie just prayed he hadn't deduced that she enjoyed their fights. God knows what he'd do with that tidbit. She continued to back away down the sidewalk waving a clearly sarcastic goodbye till she turned a corner. She was finding it very hard not to smile, but she managed.

Walking all of four blocks a pay phone near by suddenly began ringing. Of course she thought nothing much of it, just that someone was lazy and should get a disposable instead of using a pay phone to receive calls. Those cheapskate's...or maybe they're a spy. _Maybe I should be using pay phones, _she shook her head. No. To many vulnerabilities.

So she kept on walking till she passed a restaurant with a wall phone. It rang and she paused. As the employee was just about to pick it up the ringing stopped. They walked away so she went to continue on her way, brushing it off, when it rang again. Same thing happened. _Ok, now that was a little weird._ But instead of sticking around she went back to heading to the grocery. Her fridge was looking extremely sad and barren, her hunger increasingly the more time past.

But then as she was walking past yet another wall phone it to went off in another shop. Then the same thing happened again when she passed yet another phone booth. But she kept on walking, ignoring the clear cry for attention or extremely rare coincidence. She began to pick up her pace as the ringing phones followed her, but she obstinately refused to give in. No, if there was one thing the Lee's were it was stubborn, to the point of immediate death. So it wasn't till she passed a phone store, and all the models went off inside it, did she pick one up.

She rushed into the store grabbing the nearest cell, "What!"

"There's a security camera on your right Miss Lee. Do you see it," a male voice, with a distinct British accent, asked. She glanced at it out of the corner of her eye, "Yes."

"Watch."

The camera moved away so she was no longer in it's sight. "There's another camera across the street. Do you see it?"

"Yes, I see that you're moving all the camera's so they're no longer facing me. Bravo, any monkey with half a brain cell can hack into the city mainframe," Ollie promptly hung up the phone placing it back in it's holder. _I wonder if that was the smartest thing to do...but then again bad decision making leads to good story telling. _Deciding to go with the devil may care attitude she so usually sported, and missed, she left the store. This was beginning to turn into a fun day, enough so that her mind wasn't so focused on finding more information on her latest brain drain. Well, just not enough that'd she'd go bonkers nuts. She was saving that for a special day. Like getting out of jury duty day. That always put a smile on her face.

Another phone rang near by, but this time she didn't even bother to acknowledge it and kept on walking. But you can only ignore something for so long. A black car pulled up next to her and a woman in her late twenties got out. Her chocolate hair curled around her neck as she texted. "Miss Lee if you'd please come with me. My employer wishes to speak with you."

"Oh well, since you said please," Ollie smiled then proceeded to walk past her. She could play games later. Right now she had some shopping to do. "He said you'd say that. And told me to tell you that if you don't cooperate he'll make your current residence in London known to concerned parties. Considering you've been trying so hard not to make that fact available, I believe you'll now get in the car."

Ollie stiffen. _Crap._ Now they had her attention. With a huff she begrudgingly turned around. The woman looked up from her phone briefly, the corners of her mouth turned into a small amused smile, "Come on."

Knowing she'd been out maneuvered for the moment Ollie did as she was told and got in next to the woman. She shut the door just as the car merged into traffic. Where ever they were going it was in a hurry. _Seems someone was quite impatient. _She crossed her arms over her chest and peered out the window. This would be the part where one would partake in idle chit chat, but from the reflection of the windows she could covertly read what the woman next to her was texting. Much more informative. People tend to lie nine times in one conversation. And who was she texting? Her male employer. She could tell he was male by what words he used to address her. Males tend to write with more common nouns and determiners. More straight to the point where women make things more personalized, using more 'I', 'she', 'he, and 'they' when writing.

As it would appear she wasn't the only one wanting more information. The woman was texting him about everything Ollie was doing, how she held herself, her appearance and anything else she deemed important. After a few more texts the woman stopped midstream. Ollie read the latest one sent. _Miss Lee might be reading the texts. Would you kindly check the reflection of the window and determine if I'm correct._

She looked up just in time to catch the woman's eyes in the glass. The woman appeared surprised, though she hid it well. Ollie smirked. What! Did she really think she would just sit here in silence and twiddle her thumbs. No, they kidnapped the wrong person. If they wanted some complacent sniveling mess they nabbed the wrong person. She was already coming up with ten different ways to escape ass she idly sat there. The woman frowned and brought her cell closer t her chest. "It's rude to read someone else's texts."

Ollie belted out with laughter, "Yes, well it's rude to kidnap people and threaten them. Now go ahead and text that to you're boss. I'm sure he's waiting on baited breath."

The woman looked a little slack jawed at Ollie's response but did just that. She almost laughed again but held herself back. Now was the time to compose herself for the eventual reveal. It was pertinent she appeared as calm and aloof as possible. Hopefully it'd throw her kidnapper off his game enough that she could then gain the upper hand. She might need it if proved to be a violent endeavor.

* * *

The black car slid to a stop in an abandoned warehouse by the Thames. Yes, thing were beginning to look bad, allot like a body dump if things went south. The woman next to her barely stirred, to glued to that damnable screen between her hands, "This would be the part where you get out of the car."

And so she did, only to find that in the rusted dark damp rotting room was a well dressed man leaning upon an umbrella. Huh? Not a mob hit then. That was good, didn't want to trade in her kicks for a cement pair. They'd clash with her outfit. But from the way he dressed, factored in with his stature, indicated that he worked in some sort of government position and since he orchestrated the whole show he must be high up on the food chain. Great, who did she piss off in parliament last time she was in Britain. Not anyone she knew of.

"You seem confused agent Knight, or should I say Dr. Knight as you're no longer employed by the FBI. Although now you just go by Lee don't you. After all you left the BAU two and a half years ago to peruse other endeavors...," he pulled out a little black book flipping through a couple of pages, "as a consultant. It certainly pay's better but we both know that's not why you offer your services, now is it."

"I have to say you're quite the show boater. All of this just to talk," Ollie gestured to the room, "Though you could have picked a nicer location. Now! You apparently know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Well, your name at least. I know you work in government, had a strict upbringing that comes from living in a higher social class, mommy expects a lot from you doesn't she? Must be the eldest child, the '_good_' son I'm betting. As the oldest you have all the social obligations that comes with high society don't you. But since your line of work attracts certain types of people, the higher you on the food chain the more inept you are at lying and manipulating. I'm guessing from the way you hold yourself up you also enjoy the game it brings."

"Are you quite finished?"

"I could keep on going but then my question will never get an answer. Why kidnap me?"

"Hmm. I can see why he finds you so interesting. Your skills of deduction are almost on par with his, but you do have something he doesn't. Although his cognitive abilities might be considered extremely high they're not quite yours. A superior autobiographical memory, quite a rare talent indeed. Less than forty people in the world are reported to have it. I see you once explained it as your memories being like a time machine, that you can remember every second of your life in exact detail almost as if traveling into the past and reliving it. Experiencing everything as if it freshly happened."

"Yes, I already know this, thank you for the unnecessary re-cap but I'm pretty sure that's not why I'm here. Now if I could just put a name to your face...," Ollie trailed off waiting for him to continue. The man politely smiled but it was clear to her it wasn't genuine, "It comes with a price doesn't it. You have a compulsive behavior to find things. It wasn't too noticeable until eight months ago. If I'm correct it was right around the end of that extremely public 'frankenstein' case you consulted on. And then their was your childhood. It must have been hard not being able to cope with the sensory overload, though I see you've since recovered."

Ollie bristled trying hard not to clench her fists, "Where exactly are you going with this."

"I'm just wondering why you went off the radar and have now appeared here in London of all places. One would think you're investigating something considering your last known mental status."

"There's nothing wrong with my mental state, now tell me why I'm here or I'm leaving."

The man sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his conscience and talking to her somehow was a huge bother. "We have a mutual friend you see, well I say friend…," he trailed off. "Arch-nemesis," she offered.

"Hmm, he must see himself in you, he tends to lean towards the dramatic as well."

She snorted taking a look around her as if to prove a point, "And you don't."

"I assure you this is just a necessary precaution especially if one is trying to avoid the attention of Sherlock Holmes. I have many places like this one for that exact purpose."

"So the point of bringing me here is because you what? Want to send him a message."

"Quite the contrary, I'd rather he not know this exchange ever took place at all."

"So then what is this all about then, information," Ollie asked, "because I hardly think I'm one to ask. John would be a much more appropriate candidate."

"I've tried that already, it didn't quite pan out."

"I thought you said you were his '_friend_'," she exaggerated with air quotations, "So why would you need information."

"I worry about him."

"You worry about him?"

"Constantly."

Ollie blinked dubiously, "Oh?"

"What?"

"I see it now. I should have realized it sooner, but you were beginning to aggravate me, which should have tipped me off right away. The resemblance is uncanny. Well, not as much physically as personality, though you obviously share the necessary facial markers. You're his older brother. Oh god, that means there are two of you. I hope to god there aren't anymore of you," Ollie frowned. For a split second the man appeared surprised, but if he ever had, it was quickly erased by his usual mask of privilege. "You and he would make quite the pair, should I be expecting a wedding announcement by the end of the week," he droned. "Yeah, not looking for a partner. Besides I work better alone," She interjected. After all she had a partner, a damned good one. She'd rather not put herself in such a position again. Once was enough for her. His eyes raked over her, "Still grieving I see."

Ollie scowled. Damn she'd let her emotions show. If she couldn't get a handle on them she was going to end up dead. She turned, "I think I'll be leaving now."

"Wait. I'll pay you."

"No thanks."

"I haven't even mentioned how much."

"Sorry, but I don't like owing anyone anything. Besides, I don't need your money. After all my job does pay well as you so earlier stated. Now if you'll excuse me I've got some grocery shopping to do," She smiled, and with that, she started to walk away only to be halted by her phone pinging. She pulled out her new cell in confusion. She hadn't given this number to anyone yet, it was brand new after all. _Come to Shad Sandersons Investment Bank. At the corner of bishopsgate. Trading floors. Sebation Wilks office. Please come. -SH _Ollie looked at her phone like it had grown several mouths. How the hell had he gotten her number? Oh, wait. Going back into her memory she saw him pulling out her phone fiddling with it while she hadn't been looking. She'd been to busy bribing the cabbie. He had then quickly placed it back into her coat. Damn how had she not felt that! "You trust him?"

Ollie looked up shoving her cell back into her pocket. "His skills of deduction, with my life. But other than that, only as far as I can physically throw him," She shrugged while walking away from the conversation. Sherlock's brothers warning echoed after her, "You should stay away from him. If only for your own safety."

"I've tried but the man's a menace! If you can get him to stop breaking into my apartment however, I might tell you what he's up to every now and then. But even I don't think you're quite capable of preforming that miracle," Ollie called back as she stepped out of the warehouse and into the light of day. Her phone pinged once again. Her only thoughts as she glared at her cell, _Sherlock friggin' Holmes._

* * *

Now Ollie doesn't hate Sherlock, she's just really sarcastic plus he annoys her a bit with all his probing, but sometimes annoyance and interest/curiosity leads to other emotions *wink* *wink* *hint* *hint*, but that will happen all in due time as Sherlock is anti-emotions and Ollie is anti-relationships (of the romantic kind) and I don't want to make it happen unrealistically by forcing it to soon. Also the frankenstein case will tie in eventually, she might even have a flashback about it O.O, but that isn't till later. It should come up a before season two though :) Well I hope you all enjoyed this. Now I have to update my Doctor who fic next :)


	4. BB:The blind banker

This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A_nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

___**aandm20:** Thank you for always reviewing, it always makes me smile. :)_**  
**

_____**W.I.T.C.H : **I don't know either so i just put them all in there just in case. Although I think 911's just in america cause it's what I use but I could be wrong though. :) What movie did you end up seeing? I look forward to your ramble :)_

_____**Midnight Angel414: **Glad you're enjoying it so far. It's so hard for me not to go of tangent with Ollie as there are some many things I want known about her but they have to be revealed slowly so I worry about my writing :)  
_

_____**Wholocked11: **Hooray it's one of your favorites :) Here is a more lengthy chapter.  
_

_____**88dragon06:** Well when I thought of how she'd meet Mycroft I was like, if he does the phone trick she's most likely gonna ignore him, so viola. Thanks for liking it and the trap will have a funny ending :)_

* * *

There she was again, right where she shouldn't be. Getting involved. The exact thing she promised herself she wasn't going to do. Yet, there she was. Standing in front of Shad Sanders investment bank all because her insufferable neighbor texted her seven simple words, _I have something of yours. Very interesting_. So there Ollie was glaring at the tall glass skyscraper, trying to set it on fire with her mind with no such luck, when a familiar voice droned from behind her. "You arrived in record time. Nearby were you?"

Ollie spun around to see Sherlock smirking, hands firmly shoved in his black coat, his signature scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Briefly she wished it were her hands tightly wrapped around his neck strangling the life from him. The smug bastard. She outstretched one of said hands towards him, wriggling her fingers in expectation, "Alright, hand it over."

His answer, walking past her and into the building. She was about to curse when John jogged over surprised to see her. "Oh! Ollie what are you doing here? Sorry, did that sound a bit rude."

She shrugged, "Not really. I'm only here because Sherlock has something of mine."

Falling in step with him, they both walked towards the revolving doors. John sighed frustratedly, "Sorry about him. I don't think he quite understands the word personal property. If you want I can see if I can get it back for you. What did he take?"

Ollie's face scrunched in thought as they pushed through the doors, "Don't know...I just hope it's not something I need."

Before he could reply all the air rushed out of John's lungs as he gazed up at the vast high tech atrium, taking in the glass lifts, the internal windows, and the very swanky atmosphere wafting from every immaculate nook and cranny. It definitely spoke of money, practically shoved it down one's throat. "When he said we were going to the bank…," John trailed off a bit awed. Ollie nodded in absent agreement as they traveled up the escalator. When they reached the top Sherlock was already talking to one of the secretaries at the front desk. "-Of course. Someone from security will be right with you to escort you and your associates up to his office right away. He's currently in a meeting but it'll be over in a few more minutes. I'll just send a message to let him know that you've arrived."

A security guard near the metal detectors waved them over. Full of questions John and Ollie trailed after Sherlock. Ollie, being a bit more observant, didn't ask Sherlock anything as she already knew why they were there. After all with him it was always one of two things. An experiment or a case. Seeing as this wouldn't be a good place to retrieve a cadaver body part Ollie settled on the latter. Though there was one question she wanted answered. What the hell did he take!

The elevator doors ahead pinged as the guard waited for the party of three to catch up. Needless to say once they all piled in the space was a bit claustrophobic. Ollie's face palled a little, "I think I should just take the stairs. It's a bit stuffy in here."

Before she could make her escape however Sherlock pushed floor 24 on the panel effectively ending that course of action. He noted her stiff posture at the movement, fully confirming his deduction, "Claustrophobia, interesting."

"No! Not claustrophobic. I just don't particularly have a love for small spaces."

"Precisely. Claustrophobia."

"No, I just had a bad experience once and…," Ollie trailed off thinking better of it. Finish that sentence and he just might find out who she was. Well, that is if he hadn't already gotten past the firewalls, mislinks and interference she had a couple of her more tech savvy friends build around anything remotely mentioning her, of course she didn't really see him as a hacker. Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, "And…"

She shrugged, "And nothing. End of sentence."

"You were going to say something."

"I suppose I might have been, but that would be telling and that doesn't seem very fair. Are you gonna tell me what you took?"

"No."

If Sherlock could look like a child who had just been told '_no candy_' she was sure it would be at that precise moment. Of course he was Sherlock so he never would, at least not outwardly. She had no idea what might be going on in that rain man brain of his. She smirked as she imagined that reference. His eyes narrowed as if he knew the smile was at his expense, which he most likely did. And he was right. She immediately stopped smiling when she realized she was having fun. _Crap. Hope he didn't see that. _Ollie went to confirm if he'd caught that tidbit but the elevator jolted as they passed the 19th floor. Her face reached a new shade of white. God, she hated elevators.

John lightly gripped her shoulder comfortingly, "Don't worry, almost there…," he cleared his throat, "You know if things like this bother you, you could always see a specialist to help overcome it."

"You mean like a Psychiatrist?"

He shrugged, "I suppose so."

Ollie turned to glare at the elevator door. A bit angry that he would even suggest that, but quickly calmed herself down. He wasn't like the others. He wasn't suggesting she go because of her compulsion or what other defects the others thought she needed fixing. No, he was just being nice old thoughtful John. His words weren't laced with hate, fear, contempt, or superiority. No, it was just a general worry. She almost smiled genuinely at the thought that someone was actually concerned for her out of kindness. Mentally shaking the warm bubbly feeling in the pit of her stomach she shoved her hands into her coat pockets. "Pshhhh, like I'd let some whack job make poptarts in my mind kitchen. No thanks! This," she gestured to her skull, "It's a fortress of solitude. And it's always on lockdown. Besides I'm thirteen and o'. I know when to go out on top. But thanks though."

John paused in confusion, "What do you mean thirteen and o'?"

The doors opened up to a large grey room filled with rows of tables covered in large computers screens. People talking on phones and typing like madmen buzzed around the office. It was busy work all around. Ollie practically jumped out of the metal death trap almost causing a woman to drop a load of files. Not that she apologized. Turning to her neighbor she smiled cheekily, "Means I've sent thirteen Psychiatrist running out of a room screaming or cry, it depends on which one. But to be fair I did warn them to leave before hand and save themselves the agony. Funnily enough not a single one listened."

The security guard promptly passed her to lead them across the trading floor to a corner office, swiping a card through the reader next to the door. It clicked open, "Mr. Wilkes will be in shortly. You all have a nice day."

John waited till the guard was gone till he turned to Ollie with a raised brow, "Thirteen?"

She grinned proudly at the fact. And John, though he shouldn't admit it, joined in, shaking his head in amused disbelief. Even Sherlock's mouth tugged in a small smile at the information as he walked over to the glass desk, examine its contents. A man in a well tailored suit strode in smiling as his eyes laid upon her blue eyed neighbor. "Sherlock Holmes!"

The man known as Sebastian grabbed his hand firmly shaking it, though his enthusiasm was clearly forced. Something her neighbor was aware of as he replied in turn. "Sebastian."

"How are you, buddy? How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?"

Sebastian glanced at Ollie and John wondering who they were. His eyes lingered a bit longer on her regarding certain female aspects. Ollie mentally noted his dilated pupils and filed away his attraction, storing it away for future use. God willing it would never be necessary, but it was always good to have contingency plans. Who knew when she might need a broker, or in this case, going from the plack on the door, the director of a trading floor. If she ever needed to move cash fast or liquidate funds covertly, this would be the place. Sherlock, taking notice of Sebastian's clear confusion, immediately introduce the two to rectify the situation. "This is my friend John Watson and Olivia Lee."

Sebastian's mouth twitched as if finding humor in his statement. Ollie immediately got the feeling that he looked down on Sherlock due to his unique qualities. _Mental note, Superiority complex._ "Colleague," John immediately interjected. Ollie however went in a different direction with her complaint, "I prefer Ollie, not Olivia."

She briefly glared in Sherlocks vicinity, mad that he'd figured out her full first name. Though to be honest there weren't that many choices in the O name department. Especially ones that had the nick name Ollie. A brief micro expression of amusement flashed across his face. Great, now he knew of her clear dislike of her girly monicker. If she was lucky he wouldn't do anything with that information. _Pshh, fat chance._ He was bound to use it eventually to try and gain the upper hand in their constant battle of hide and seek. Except in this case it was finding out a secret and not a person. Sort of.

Sebastian shook Johns hand unenthusiastically, "Right."

He scratched the back of his neck clearly not believing the premise of Sherlock having a friend or a colleague to ring true. It was obvious by Sherlocks gaze that he'd caught the omission as well. Sebastian then turned to Ollie and so she extended her hand in common courtesy as well, but instead of a hand shake he leaned in to place a kiss upon her knuckles, lingering a bit longer than socially necessary. "Pleasure."

Her eyes widened marginally in surprise. Oh, he was one of those was he, "I suppose."

The man smiled oily and walked around to his chair motioning to his guests to do the same, "Grab a pew."

Sherlock took the one on the right as John pulled the other out for Ollie. She figured she'd comply since it wasn't the time to argue on who stands and who sits. Something interesting was happening and she didn't want to miss it. After all, it was apparent to her that Sebastian and Sherlock had a history. It would suffice to say he also had some dirt on her neighbor.

The trade floor manager's personal assistant walked in a moment later, he only spared her a short glance before returning it to the people before him. Not even bothering to let anyone respond. "Need something? Coffee? Water? No," he looked over to the woman brushing her off, clearly trying to show off, "We're all sorted here thanks."

"You're doing well. Spending lots of time abroad," Sherlock stated. Sebastian entwined his fingers together, leaning back in his chair. He was trying to convey humility and modesty, but the slight upwards quirk in his lips revealed the smug gloating he tried to hide. He pretended to shrug it off, "Well some…"

Ollie watched, in slight fascination, as Sherlocks eyes zeroed in, noticing every detail of the man before him. She could tell he found everything he needed when his eyes popped back up to the other man's face. "Flying all the way round the world. Twice a month!"

Sebastian grinned wanly recalling memories from his youth. "You're doing that thing," he pointed out, turning to John and Ollie to explain, "We were at Uni together, and this guy here - he had this trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick," Sherlock stated; annoyed that the man could so easily sum up the precision and vast knowledge of his abilities as something so vapid as illusion. Sebastian's rolled his eyes, apparently used to the clipped tone reserved for idiots, and continued. "He could look at you and tell your whole life story."

John must have sensed the underlying scorn in Sebastian's words as his hand gripped the top of Ollie's chair tightly. Though commendably, he managed to keep his voice polite, "Yes, I've seen him do it."

"Put the wind up everybody. We hated him. You'd come to breakfast in the formal hall and this freak would know who you'd been shagging the previous night," Sebastian said slouching into his chair. Sherlock briefly looked down at the ground, an unpleasant memory brushing past, before quickly snapping them back up to his old peer, a coldness lacing his words, "I simply observed."

Ollie watched the interaction with avid interest. She was beginning to understand him a little better from the conversation, a picture starting to form, but by no means had she figured him out. No, she just got why he might be as guarded as he was. It was quite clear to her that he wouldn't be the most popular person due to his brutal honesty and lack of social filter but she would have never thought he'd be the type to have been bullied. But the more she analyzed how he acted and reacted it made sense. It's why he always lashed out first. After all words can be so much more damaging than physical blows. The body heals. The mind however, rarely does.

Laughter pulled her out of the think tank and back to the present. Sebastian twisted back and fourth in his chair, "Go on. Enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all round the world. You're quite right. But how could you tell?"

Sherlock went to explain but the man cut him off. "Gonna tell 'em there's a stain on my tie, from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?"

"No. I-," Sherlock tried to answer only to be interrupted again, "Or maybe it's the mud on my shoes."

Sherlock waited a good fifteen-seconds before answering, "I was chatting to your Secretary outside. She told me."

Sebastian's arrogant smile faded, his jaw clenched, before quickly breaking out into pretend laughter. Looks like that hit a nerve. Sherlock gave him a condescending smile. Suddenly Sebastian's demeanor shifted to business, "I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break in."

Standing up, Sebastian walked out of the room, leaving with the intent that they were to follow. It was a bit rude that he would assume such a thing but a man with a power complex assumed everyone would fall into line at his whim. And since they weren't there to fix his obvious psychopathic tendencies, as most in a position of power held them, the group trailed after him out to the buzzing trading floor as he quickly explained the details. "Sir William's Office. The bank's former chairman. His room has been left here - like a sort of memorial...Someone broke in here late last."

"What did they steal," John asked. "Nothing. They just left a little message," Sebastian shrugged as he swiped his card on the reader to William's office. The door buzzed, the mechanism unlocking, as he pulled the door open for Ollie. His attempt at wooing the woman by expressing his _kind_ nature. Not that she could so easily be won over by a simple gesture.

A painting of the former occupant hung on the wall, his plump round face that gazed out with cold authority, was graffitied by yellow spray paint, covering his eyes. An illegible scrawl lay on the naked wall next to it. The group stared at it, the two more analytical of the bunch drank in every detail, till Sebastian briskly walked out of the room; once again motioning for them to follow. Leading them back into his office, he pulled up next to his desk and typed in an input on the key board, bringing up a window on the monitor. A surveillance video appeared. "Sixty seconds apart," he informed, pointing to the time stamp, "So someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed a bit of paint around and then left within a minute."

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back, peering down at the screen. His eyes roving the digital details for flaws or inconsistencies. "How many ways into that office?"

"That's where this gets really interesting," Sebastian spoke, "but will have to go down to reception first."

Ollie's eyebrow twitched. Great back into the elevator, nope not this time. "I think I'll take the stairs."

"Sorry, but you'd need an access pass in order to use them," Sebastian informed as they walked out of the room. Ollie scoffed, "Isn't that dangerous. What if there's an emergency?"

"If someone pulls the fire alarm there's an automatic release opening them. I assure you miss Lee, this facility is state of the art. No expense was spared."

"And yet someone was able to vandalized a painting," Sherlock droned with a sharp barb. Sebastian bristled at the comment but shrugged it off, "Well, that's why your here now isn't it."

As they passed a fire alarm on the way to the elevator, a thought popped into the Americans mind, so Ollie went to pull it. However, before she could procure her safe passage to the ground floor a hand shot out stopping her; dragging her into the lift. She glared at none other than Sherlock Holmes. He smirked as she muttered profanities under her breath. Of course instead of relinquishing her hand he held on to it. She briefly wondered why he hadn't immediately dropped it as the elevator took off. Was he trying to be nice? Unlikely. Keep her from freaking out, hardly. She glared at the door. The only possible explanation would be that he was taking her pulse. But why? Sebastian turned his attentions to her, "So Olivia, what brought you to work with Sherlock Holmes."

That son of a bitch! He knew Sebastian would try and make small talk with her. He was gauging her reactions. _Oh ho ho, well played Holmes, well played._ "Please call me Ollie," she insisted, "everyone else does. I'm just his neighbor. Nothing special really."

"She's an FBI profiler," Sherlock stated. "Was. I'm a writer now," Ollie corrected. She glared at him with a tight smile as he tried to lead the conversation, if she were of a smaller mind she'd not have noticed. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. _Challenge accepted, _Ollie mentally grinned_._ Sliding one of her fingers to rest against his pulse she showed him she knew what he had been capitalize on. After all two could play at that game. Esteem for his opponent briefly flashed cross his eyes as hadn't anticipated she would realize what he had been doing. Which showed just how much she thought of her and how he vastly underestimated her intelligence. Sebastian's voice quickly ended the silent staring match, "What exactly does a profiler do?"

Ollie returned her attentions back to the other man, giving a short reply, "They hunt down serial killers using human behavior, psychology, and analysis to catch them."

The elevator lurched as they passed the eighth floor and Ollie suddenly paled slightly. John smiled as he finally noticed something. To him it looked like Sherlock was trying to comfort Ollie as he held her hand, but to the two holding hands it was anything but. After all Sherlock doesn't do sentiment nor does Ollie do touchy feely guestures. No, it was a battle of wills and neither was backing off. "Really! That must be fascinating. We should talk about it over drinks sometime," Sebastian suggested, though it was clear he didn't much care for her previous job and just wanted a quick shag. Ollie smiled as she thought of something that would make Sherlock's pulse beat a little bit faster. Causing his whole plan to backfire in his face might work. Instead of him finding her secret maybe she'd find a few of his, "Only if you tell me all about Sherlock when he was in college, oh the stories you must have. How about we meet up later?"

_There it is, _she smiled to herself the prediction came true. She turned to give him a smug victory smile when suddenly the hand Sherlock was holding was brought up to his lips, he lightly caressed her knuckles. It was evident from his eyes that there was no '_feeling_' behind the motion, but she knew it had to do with some sort of counter attack on his part. He put his fake smile on, "Oh, we can't have that now, can we. After all we have plans tonight, just the two of us. Remember I have that thing you've been wanting."

_Crap_. Now that's something she would do. Make it seem as if they're in a relationship effectively cock blocking Sebastian and stopping any further interactions. And then, essentially blackmailing her by subtly reminding her that he had one of her possessions. _Oh, you clever clever man. _She forced a smile and pinched his cheek in vengeance, "Sorry _sweat heart_, I totally spaced."

While his eye twitched at the words _sweat heart_ his tight smile promised retribution. _Oh, bring it on cheek bones!_ Sebastian deflated at the interaction buying into the ruse while John looked on in shock as the doors pinged opened. Sebastian briskly walked out, leaving the other three to travel out of ear shot. "Wait, when did you two get involved in a relationship," John whispered. Sherlock scoffed, "John, I already told you I don't do relationships. And from what I've gathered neither does Olivia."

Dammit. Now he was calling her Olivia. She'd insist that he call her Ollie but there would be of no use. He wasn't gonna stop. After all her complaining would effectively make sure he continued using it and if she let it be I'd produce that same result. So ether way she was stuck. Maybe she would start calling him terms of endearment since she figured out that he hated it.

"Ollie had a boyfriend," John amended. To which Sherlock rolled his eyes at, "That's what she wanted us to think but I've since found out by a very reliable source that that isn't the case."

Ollie appeared shocked that he'd figured that out. _But how?_ Looking back she went through the night of the restaurant. When she was leaving, examining the clientele a face caught her attention. One that looked on in respect and admiration when Sherlock had entered. _Crap._ She smacked her forehead, "The restaurant owner."

It was his turn to be shocked, for however brief. The mere fact she could recall that detail suggested she wasn't like most people. Of course in her omission she had revealed a little more of herself than she realized. Interesting.

Sebastian waved them over from behind the front desk. They shuffled across leaving each other to there own conclusions about the conversation. Staring at the computer screen a schematic of the floor popped open. "Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard. Every toilet," Sebastian pointed. Sherlock studied the digital display, "That door didn't open last night?"

Sebastian shook his head, "There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you. Five figures."

He reached into his jacket pulling out a check to show Sherlock, "This is only an advance. Tell me how he got in and there's a bigger one on its way."

The consultant didn't even bother to give it a glance before walking off, offended he was even offered such a trite frivolity as it only created the illusion that he was copiable and underneath the other man. All it was was an assertion of the other man's dominance and another jibe at Sherlocks expense. "I don't need any incentives, Sebastian."

John however wasn't so quick to turn the money away, not seeing the underlying subtext, "He's kidding you, obviously. Shall I look after that for him...?"

Sebastian not really caring handed it over. Ollie, out of curiosity, took a gander from over his shoulder to see how much an '_incentive_' was. _Ten thousand pounds not bad. _John seemed to think the same thing as he took in a couple shallow breaths just looking at the thing. _Hmm, must be having money troubles, _Ollie thought. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Sherlock getting into an elevator, leaving alone.

"John do you want to just wait by the elevators till he comes back down. Because if we plan on following after him I'm pulling the fire alarm so we can take the stairs."

Looking up he stuffed the check into his wallet turning to see Sherlock traveling up the glass elevator, "Ah, sure why not. We'd probably just be in his way anyways. Also, you do know they have dye packs in those now, right."

"Yep, but I know how to avoid them," she smiled whilst wiggling her fingers as they moved towards the lift lobby. He smiled, "You know you've changed in these past few weeks. I mean, I don't know you all that well but you've seemed much happier as of recent. I-I mean not as to say that I thought you were sad looking before it's just you seemed tired when we met."

Ollie almost laughed as he got flustered, thinking he might have insulted her. She wasn't that easily offended. But he was right. "I think that had more to do with finally getting some sleep" she explained, "Sherlock had been keeping me up with his horrid violin playing. Well, it's not all horrid when he was actually playing a song but-well you live with him so you know."

He laughed, "I do. But that's not the worst of it. What ever you do don't open our fridge. It's a like crime scene in there. He keeps all sorts of body parts for experimentation right next to the food. I came home one time and he was dropping fingers in different types of acidic solution to measure how long it takes for prints and DNA to no longer be viable like it was the most normal thing in the world. I swear he's either a genius or completely mad."

Ollie tried to contain her laughter imagining the scenario as they begun to attract attention. "Oh god, I imagine a bit of both, but I guess that answered my question of what he was doing with all those fingers. Do you know where he keep getting them from? I mean should I be worried, is there some guy out there walking around with no fingers or is someone opening grampa's casket to say one last goodbye only to find he's missing a few parts? Please tell me he's not stealing them from the morgue."

John smiled as he watched her talk amicably with wild exaggerating hand gestures. _So this must be what Ollie's really like, _John thought, wondering why she wasn't like this more often. It was actually quite cute. "No. It's more like the pathologist, Molly, at Bart's morgue can't say no since she's a little sweet on him. Sherlock knows it to and uses it relentlessly get what he wants. She's such a nice girl too," John explained. Ollie nodded knowing the type, "Poor thing. Let me guess he gives her some silly little compliment to get what he wants but other than that he's business as usual. Judging by her job she probably doesn't know how to interact with living people to well, rejection being a big fear of hers. Of course then again who's isn't. So she's probably very shy and a little bit mousy so she's not used to getting compliments or attention from men which is why it's so easy for him to manipulate her. She's probably aware of it on some level too, but because he gives her a smile every now and again she thinks that there might be some slim chance that he may just feel the same way she does, so she puts up with the coldness and-oh god that sounded terribly rude. I really didn't mean for that to sound so mean. I mean, I was just talking and- you know what I think maybe I should stop talking. Yeah that would probably be best."

She leaned against the wall suppressing the urge to bash her skull against it. Crap, she really hadn't meant to do that but John just made it so easy to feel like she was in a safe environment to speak freely, she'd forgotten herself for a moment. And for that brief moment John had been replaced by someone else. Bringing her back to the good old days. But that moment was over. Reality was back and she had to deal with the repercussions. She braced herself for damage control. He may tolerate it with Sherlock but there was no guarantee he'd tolerate it with anyone else. "Wow."

Her eye's shot over to John who seemed a bit awed. Hm, maybe he was more tolerant than she had originally thought. "It's just, it's weird to hear someone other than Sherlock make a deduction. And you haven't even met her."

"So your not upset?"

"Why would I be. It's not like you were being malicious or anything, you were just being yourself. Are you always like that?"

She shrugged, "It's what profilers do. We have to figure out who killed someone from victimology. Sometimes you can't find the unsub because they're not in CODIS so we essentially describe to you what kind of person you'd be looking for just from crime scenes. And to answer your question, I try not to when I'm not on a job. It doesn't leave for a very healthy social life if you do. Oh, and please don't tell Sherlock I was profiling someone, I rather not get into a competition with him."

John shook his head smiling, wishing he could see who'd win in that fight. He bet everyone at Scotland yard would even pay to see that. "Alright. But tell me this. Did you profile him?"

She smiled, "The minute I walked through the door."

John chuckled, "Your definitely gonna give him a run for his money that's for sure. When we'd first met he'd told me pretty much my whole life story but with you he's barely said a word. I think he might like you just a bit and doesn't want to upset you. Well, more than he's already done. He acts like the nipper who bullies the girl he likes on the playground."

"Psh, I doubt it. It's because I'm like an onion. I have many layers. He wants to wait till he's peeled them all off before he makes his final deduction. That way he doesn't miss anything vital that might lead him to what ever it is he thinks I'm hiding. Once he's found it I assure you, I'll become just another Molly to him."

He raise an eyebrow. "Are you hiding something?"

"John, we're all hiding something. I've just been a bit more successful at keeping it, which let me tell you is a constant battle with Sherlock. Are you sure he doesn't have any bloodhound in him?"

"Why?" deep vibrato inquired, "Don't think you can evade me much longer. Oh, Olivia don't give up now. Were would the fun in that be?"

John and Ollie jumped five feet in the air at the resonating baritone. Hearing the doors to the elevator close she estimated he'd only been there for a few seconds so any conversation he'd overhead wasn't much. Thank god for small miracles. She turned around to face the ever smug Sherlock, "What even makes you think you're gonna win."

His sharp blue eyes bore into her with alarming scrutiny, "Because I always win."

A shiver of excitement ran down her spine, from what she didn't know. _Maybe for the challenge, _she thought. It had been a while since she'd worked on anything beside her current case and right now even that was in one of it's information lulls. _At least I won't be bored while I wait for more data._ Flashing her best cocky grin she knew she was poking the bear. She always did like to poking things with sticks, "I suppose if your playing to lose, you will."

They stood where they were, not moving. Each assessing. Each searching for vulnerabilities. Each one relishing in the possibility of beating the other. Each one forgetting about John's continued presence. He cleared his throat, "Hamish."

The two consultants withdrew momentarily from the silent battle and gazed questioningly at the doctor, "What?"

"John Hamish Watson. Just if you are looking for baby names."

Ollie scoffed. To which, Sherlock with his vast intelligence, turned to her for explanation. She rolled her eyes, "He thinks there's something more going on between us than just neighbors."

He sighed with a droll stare, "John I've already made my position quite clear on the subject of girlfriends. Now if there is anything else you're fuzzy on I believe we're done here."

"Actually there is. 'Two trips around the world this month.' You didn't ask his Secretary," John stated, "You said that just to irritate him."

Sherlock smiled as they made there way down the escalator. Of course he had. After all he couldn't let the man remain unscathed as he subtly berated him. John licked his lips in anticipation, "How did you know?"

"Did you see his watch," Sherlock asked.

"His watch?"

Ollie shifted thinking back to when Sebastian had scratched his neck. For a fleeting second his watch, one of the more expensive kind that kept the dates as well as the time, was visible to her. The day on it was off by two. So that's how he'd known. Sherlock eager to show off, proceeded to explain. "The time is right but the dates were wrong. It said two days ago. So he crossed the date line twice, and didn't alter it."

"Within a month," the Doctor asked dubiously, "How d'you get that part?"

"New Breitling. Only came out this February," the consultant stated like it were common knowledge. John peered around the lobby and decided to move the conversation along, "Ok, do you think we should sniff around here a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

John looked over to Ollie, she shrugged not knowing what he'd gathered. She wasn't a mind reader after all. Though she had played one once. _Oh, fond memories._

Ollie scuttled to catch up to Sherlocks longer strides. Yes, he had definitely found something or he wouldn't have been walking so fast. "That graffiti is a message, John. For someone at the bank working on the trading floor. We find the intended recipient and-," John interrupted catching his train of thought, "and he'll to lead us to the person who sent it."

"Obvious."

"There's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?"

"Pillars."

Pillars? Yes, they had passed some on the floor but what was he getting at. Ollie thought about it for a second. Analyzing what they might have to do with the case and came up with only one solution. It created a certain visibility to the message on the wall. Which meant..., "Oh."

John looked at her then Sherlock not being able to see it, "What?"

"The pillars and the screens," the other man monotonously enlightened, "There very few places where you could see the graffiti. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at 11:34 last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it," John asked as they made their way through the revolving doors. Ollie squinted, her eyes readjusting to the light outside. Was it always that bright? Sherlock, having no such problems, strode towards the road, "Traders come to work at all hours. Some people trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight."

He pulled a name tag from his jacket, "Not many Van Coon's in the phone book. Taxi!"

A cab immediately stopped, for the second time that day. Ollie needed to know how he got one on his first go every time. John and Sherlock jumped in but she didn't follow, instead standing firmly in place. She sort of tag along but prolonged exposure with Sherlock could result in an accidental slip up and she really didn't need that, since she was now determined to win this game. Plus she was starving. "Olivia," Sherlock called out, "hurry it along we don't have all day."

She waved her hands in front of her, "No, I think that's it for me today. I have other things to dooo-," she yelled out the last part as her neighbor pulled her into the cab. She fell onto him only to be pushed into the seat across from the man. "Sherlock," John shouted reprimandingly. He paid him no mind and instead spoke to the driver, "Drive."

Ollie glared at him buckling up, "Ass."

* * *

The ride over had been relatively quite. No one had made a single utterance. Sherlock had been thinking about his case. With John it was a variety of things, mainly the situation on his bills. While Ollie, on the other hand, planned on how to escape and secure sustenance. Of course, when they'd made it the apartment complex, any hope she was dashed when Sherlock reminded her of his earlier text. Something that was to be expected, after all on had to use blackmail for it to be blackmail. Bastard.

Said bastard walked over to the door and rung the bell for Van Coon residence. There was no answer. He tried one more time, only to receive the same result. Looks like she'd get to leave after all, that was till she spotted the man checking the other buzzers. Damn. She already knew what he was gonna do as it was something she herself would have done. John frowned having yet to work it out, "So what do we do now, then? Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

"Just moved in."

"What," John was confused but Ollie didn't tell him what Sherlock meant since, one he was gonna explain himself and two she didn't want him to know just how observant she was, that way he might not keep bringing her along. After all, he had no idea if she was a good profiler or not but she had the disturbing inkling he already knew her skill level. She could still live in hope though tat he didn't. Sherlock pointed at the pristine label for Wintle, "Floor above. New label."

"Could have just replaced it," John replied. Sherlock rung the buzzer, "No one ever does that."

A female voice instantly called out from the speaker, "Hello?"

Sherlocks demeanor immediately shifted as his usual facade melted into one of a normal guy. He even smiled! Ollie figured he was about to do some acting. After all people, believe it or not, can hear a smile. So when you're lying over the phone always act out the emotion you're trying to portray. He leaned in attempting to be as sweet as could be. "Hi. Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met."

"No. Well I- I've ah just moved in."

Sherlock cast a victorious smirk to John and Ollie, "Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat…"

"You want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah and can I use your balcony."

"What?...um well...I guess."

The door buzzed and Sherlock propped it open, "You two stay here. I'll buzz you in once I've entered the flat."

"Sherlock it'd be easier if we came in an waited-," the glass door clicked shut in John's face, as the other man walked off, "outside the flat. God I hate him sometimes."

Ollie smiled as John had a mini fit, flailing his arms about. He stopped after a few seconds, composing himself and readjusted his shirt. "Sorry."

She grinned, "No need. It's either that or punch him. We all know which one I chose."

John grinned back at her, remembering it fondly. He was never gonna let Sherlock live it down, not that she cared. It made her look good after all. "Do you think he's got up there by now,"John asked. Ollie shrugged, "He probably walked up the stairs two at a time. I don't take him for a very patient man."

She shuffled back a bit till the balconies above became visible. Just in time to spot Sherlock drop down to the one bellow with cat burglar like finesse. She went back to John, "Looks like he's managed it."

They waited for the door to open but nothing happened. Any time now the door should buzz. Yet still, nothing came. _What's taking him so long,_ John thought looking to Ollie, but she didn't know either, shrugging in response to his unasked question. He pressed Van Coons buzzer, "Sherlock?"

No answer. He sighed and pressed the button once again, "Sherlock? You OK?"

He leaned against the wall sending Ollie an apologetic smile. He turned back to the buzzer raising his voice just a little more this time, "Any time you feel like letting us in…," Ollie moved up, adding her two cents, "We know you're in there. I saw you jump down. Don't pretend you're not."

They waited again before John went with a different tactic, "Sherlock if you don't open this door right now I swear-," he was cut short when the door unlocked. Ollie patted him on the shoulder as she passed, "Good job buddy."

This time they took the stairs, much to the profilers relief. Traveling up four flights they reached their destination fairly quick. Of course, they had to figure out which room was the one they wanted. Taking a couple seconds to think of the layout from outside and reverse the specifications to the inside Ollie knocked on the third door to the right. Pretty sure it was the right one. The door ripped open, "Van Coons dead."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Also I have a question for all you readers should I cross this story over with criminal minds for a few chapters or leave it as I have it?**

I have some fun ideas for the next part as you can see I had some funny little tidbits in this one :) But by no means do they have romantic interest in each other yet, no that will come show up before the end of the season. Which I will have many side cases in between before I get to season two. After all their has to be some character development before that development comes about ;)

**P.s. **Sorry I know I said I'd update My whofic next but I've been in such a sherlock mood lately so I finished this chapter first, not that I've been iddle with my other fic. It's half way there btw.

**P.p.s. **Lol, I know I totally ripped off johns line from the first episode of season two but I just had to I couldn't resist.


	5. BB:The Neighborly Thing to Do

_This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A__nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any. Also Sorry it's a bit short, next chapter should wrap up the Banker episode so it'll probably be longer._

_____****______******TheGirlWhoWaited: **______She was but has since started her own thing as a consultan______t. and don't worry, sometimes I get lazy as well :)_

_____**W.I.T.C.H : **That sux about your laptop, but at least you still access the interwebs :) I wanted to see that movie, the premise made me lolz, I'll have to get it on dvd though since it's not in theaters anymore here :( I love Sweeney Todd! Who needs sanity anyways, pshhh it's ever so boring :) ps. if you killz me who will right the story, cause if I'm a ghost I'm going to the set of all my favorite show to watch them before the new seasons are realized :P I shall not be exorcized either :)  
_

_____**Midnight Angel414: **I'm glad you liked the elevator part :) Hope you like what happens next too :)  
_

_____**88dragon06: **Thx! I'll try and keep it going, although we all know what it's going to segue into eventually *hint* *hint* :)_

_**LavishDish: **Opps,I probably didn't give it but she's 26. Then I definitely will, and Reid will have to make an appearance :D I know, if you think about it Sherlock's practically a profiler :)_

_**Taz1995: **Hooray, another nice review! And I'll have to crossover then. :D  
_

* * *

_I should leave. I really really should. This is dangerously unhealthy, not to mention highly inappropriate, _Ollie thought whilst leaning against the wall of Van Coon's bedroom. The man lay dead, a bullet to his right temple, on his bed; dressed as if he were going to work, not five feet away from her. Not to mention Scotland yard had arrived wandering about collecting evidence and taking photo's. So the place was crawling with people. _And yet,_ she lifted a pilfered potato chip to her mouth, _Why does it feel so good._

She almost moaned as the flavor hit her taste buds. God she missed food. It'd been to long since her last meal, a few days ago, courtesy of her nosy neighbor and his starving-the-enemy tactics. Speaking of which, she watched as he came striding back into the room with John in tow. He shrugged off his coat pulling his scarf with it and promptly threw them onto Ollie, covering her view, "Hold that for me."

John gave him a reprimanding look before picking the articles of clothing off her, folding them onto his left arm. He went to apologize on behalf of the other man when he noticed the bag of chips, "Where'd you get those?"

"Secret stash," she grinned holding up her treasured prize triumphantly. John eyed her slack jawed, "Are you eating a dead man's crisps?"

She held the bag defensively away from him to her chest, "Yeah, so what! He doesn't need them any more and I'm starving! I was supposed to be grocery shopping when I was rudely interrupted, twice, thank you very much."

She ate a few more daring him to pry them away from her. Causing him to suppress an amused chuckle. The exchange, however, didn't go unnoticed by their mutual friend. Who, if he had '_emotions_', one would think he was upset at their new found familiarity, "If you two are finished blogging about useless frivolities I'd like to look at the body before forensics mucks anything up with their ineptitude."

They rolled their eyes shuffling apart. John crossed over to the bed, folding his arms as he tried to take a stab at how the man had died, "Do you think he'd lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide's pretty common amongst city boys."

Sherlock snapped on some medical gloves turning around as he did. Bending down he examined an open case of luggage, "We don't know that it was suicide."

"Come on! His door was locked from the inside. You had to climb across the balcony…," John trailed off. "Like a cat burglar," Ollie added offhandedly as she finished the bag of chips. Sherlock ignored them, instead focusing his efforts on sifting through the suit case. "Been away. Three days, judging by the laundry. Look," he gestured to John. The doctor shifted a quick glance from his position not moving, "Thanks, I'll take your word for it."

Sherlock stood up furrowing his brows, "Problem?"

"Yeah, I'm not desperate enough to root around some blokes dirty underwear."

He blinked. Not understanding, nor caring, that John had no problem touching a dead body but for some strange reason drew the line at mens undergarments, and he strode over to the body, "Those symbols at the bank, the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

"You think it was some sort of code?"

"Obviously. But why would they paint it? If they wanted to communicate why not use email," Sherlock asked as he started going through Van Coons suit jacket. John shrugged, "Maybe he wasn't answering."

"Good. You follow."

"Mmm, nope," John shook his head. Ollie looked at the room from her spot. Considering the man had locked himself in his apartment, in his bedroom, with the door propped shut, with a gun, he must have been threatened. Either that or he had really aggressive debt collectors but his attire, home, and job said he had plenty of money. So threat it was. Sherlock surveyed her, "Olivia?"

"What? Oh. No, sorry. I don't follow," she fibbed. _Now is not the time to get more involved,_ though that thought was a little to late. She could already feel her mind starting to fixate on his case. It was becoming to interesting. But the thing she found most upsetting was the fact that if she got fixated on his case then her '_problem_' might be escalating. One case at a time was manageable, but two. Three? Four? What if it never stopped, what if the amount her mind focused on kept getting larger and larger till she could hardly function. What if-"Lie."

Ollie jumped back into the real world, her fears momentarily shoved to the side, and leveled him with her best confused expression. "What?"

He reciprocated her reaction with a droll stare, "You heard me. Now stop it. John, what kind of message would everyone try to avoid? What about this morning? Those letters you were looking at."

Sherlock leaned over the deadman's mouth, drawing Ollie's attention, and caught sight of something she usually didn't even notice. Briefly in some strange sort of curiosity, and to her horror, she glanced at his back side, _not a bad view. _She stilled at the mental admission. Alright, she was officially insane. _Locking that thought down._

_"_Bills," John answered uncertain. At that exact moment Sherlock pulled out a black piece of paper from out of the decedents mouth. On closer inspection it appeared to be an origami lotus. He placed it in an evidence baggie he swiped from a CSI kit. "Yes," the consultant agreed, "He was being threatened."

"Not by the gas board," John joked just as a man waltzed into the room. He was young, he wasn't unattractive but he was no Adonis either, brown hair, brown eyes, and from the way he postured in his new crisp suit Ollie could tell he wasn't yet used to it. Recent promotion? Could be or he bought it to celebrate something else, maybe it was his first solo case. Sherlock noticed his arrival and moved over to extend his hand in courtesy, "Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met."

The suit put his hands on his hips in a classic defensive stance, trying to display his authority, "Yeah. I know who you are. And I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

Sherlock handed over the bag he'd been holding, regarding the other man with slight disdain, "I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way...?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant. It's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

Dimmock promptly swept out of the room and into the living area. Sherlock looked to John and Ollie surprised that Inspector Lestrade wasn't in charge. Upset with the change as it could make things complicated. They followed behind him when he charged after the other man.

As they entered the room Dimmock handed the evidence bag over to a tech, "We're obviously looking at a suicide."

John nodded in agreement as they approached the couch, "It does seem the only explanation of all the facts."

"Wrong," Sherlock interjected, "It's one possible explanation of some of the facts. See you've got a solution that you like...but you're just choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like," Dimmock scoffed, waiting for some form of proof to his claims.

"The wound is on the right side of his head."

"And?"

"Van Coon was left-handed," Sherlock mimed shooting himself in the right temple with his left hand causing John and Ollie to stifle a laugh at his strange dance, "requires a bit of contortion."

The DI blanched. "Left handed?"

He rolled his eyes, "I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat. Coffee table on the left hand side. Coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power circuit initially used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone, cause he picked it in his right and took messages with his left. Do you want me to go on?"

"Er, no. I think you've covered it," John spoke up trying to stop Sherlock from irritating the detective inspector further and embarrassing him in front of his co-workers. It wasn't smart to upset the person holding the key to your continued involvement. But Sherlock wasn't one to be intimidated or care about others feelings. No, he's the one usually doing the intimidating. "Oh I might as well. I'm almost at the bottom of the list. Ollie care to fill them in? No. Alright, fine. There's a knife on the bread board with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. It's highly unlikely that a left handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in and murdered him. Only explanation of _all_ of the facts."

"But the gun," Dimmock argued. "He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened," Sherlock stated as he lifted his scarf and coat from John pulling them on. Dimmock frowned, "What?"

"Today at the bank. Sort of a warning," John added. Sherlock finished wrapping his blue scarf around his neck and turned to address the detective, "He fired a shot when his attacker came in."

"And the bullet?"

"Went out the open window."

Dimmock scoffed, "Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?"

_Apparently one out of 8,174,099,_ Ollie calculated, after all it was the current population of London last she checked. Sherlock adjusted next to her, pulling out his black gloves and slipping them on one hand at a time, "Wait till you get the ballistics report, the bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun, I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside...how did the killer get in," Dimmock questioned, his training kicking in. "Good. You're finally asking the right questions," Sherlock mocked as he left leaving the DI flustered. John gave the poor guy a look of sympathy before heading after his room mate, Ollie tagging along. "Sherlock. Sherlock," he called as they tried to catch up to the guy. "You can't just embarrass the man in front of his team, then shove off. It might make things a bit difficult if you want to be let in on any cases he might be leading in the future."

"I believe I just did, and I doubt there'll be any cases of his I'll want. Current one doesn't count. Plus, I don't require his permission, just Lestrade's," he slid into the elevator just before it closed holding it open for the other two, "Now, I think it's high time we paid Sebastian another visit."

"Well, you two have fun with that but this time I'm going home," Ollie waved as she made her way to the stairs. She wasn't taking the alternative again. When no one followed she assumed she was in the clear. After all playing dumb seemed to agitate him. Which was good, because now his apartment would be empty while he interrogated Sebastian, since he wouldn't be bringing her. And if she calculated correctly she'd have a good twenty minutes once she arrived home to search his place. Fifteen minutes to search it top to bottom and five to put it back together. She would get back what he took.

Once she reached the street, and by some miracle hailed a taxi, her phone buzzed for attention. She flipped the screen open, _Don't ruin my sox index -SH. _Of course he figured it out.

* * *

Ollie flicked on the lights to Sherlock's living room, illuminating the area. She took stock of her surroundings as she put on a pair of brown leather gloves, ascertaining where to begin. Remnants of his cases long past towered precariously like small janga piles in boxes. They mainly clustered towards the windows or on the outskirts of the room, but the more recent ones were scattered near the couch. Books also migrated from their cases to the seating area in front of the fireplace and research papers seemed to have trouble staying put on the desk by the door. As she examined the room she was thankful for her extra cognitive abilities. Anyone else might find the prospect of finding anything in that apartment daunting. But she had the unique perspective of being able to compared the state of the place from when she'd last entered to it's current form, from which she could figure out just what had been moved. Thus eliminating possible hiding spaces.

Surprisingly enough not much had moved from her last '_visited_' (Sherlock had confiscated her laundry from the dryer for what he assured her was for investigative purposes, to which she'd ran up to reclaim them) a couple days prior, and anything that had been moved was probably a result of Sherlock fighting with his '_visitor_' from that morning. To be positive she checked them anyway, only to come up empty; then arranged everything back to it's proper order. That way she could deny having searched his home. Ollie smiled at imagining him trying to figure out what she'd examined, finding nothing moved and no prints.

She danced over to the kitchen using more precaution in that specific area, the man definitely was a mad scientist. His experiments, with a wide array of unidentified chemicals, cluttered the counters, stealing the much needed space. She even ventured into the infamous fridge, despite John's many warnings, but still she found nothing. As she wandered into Sherlocks room she had considered the fact that Sherlock, knowing she would try to search his apartment, meant either the item she sought wasn't in his home or he had it on his person, not that it deterred her though.

But she had to check everything just in case he was bluffing. If her search came up empty she could always take something of his to trade with. Maybe the skull on the mantle piece. Of course as she was rooting through his sock drawer she came across a pack of cigarettes and a few nicotine patches. Something Sherlock wouldn't be able to live without. She grinned deviously, stuffing them into her bra, what better place to hide them than somewhere no man would shove his hands into. Well, no man named Sherlock at least.

Ollie's phone beeped announcing her time was up. Moving things back into place she made her way out of the apartment when a thought occurred. She glanced back at the mantle, tapping her fingers against the door frame. Should she? Could she? Figuring '_what the hell_' Ollie nabbed the skull as well. A back up for her back up if you will.

As she made her way down to her humble abode Ollie heard the front door being unlocked. _Looks like he's home and I have a problem. _Her front door was ajar, male feet sticking out on the hard wood floor. Well, at least she knew her trap worked. Even if that wasn't its intended target. Stepping over him she quickly hid the skull in her freezer shutting it closed swiftly to inspect her quarry. The man was dressed in a black business suit, short kept hair, manicured hands, and a lock pick held in his uncalloused digits. She lifted his wallet off him. It had all the normal stuff a wallet had, credit cards, ID, money (which she pocketed since her broke into her apartment after all), and then she found a government security card. Great, now she had to worry about the other Holmes as well. She frowned. _How am I gonna get this guy up the stairs, he's got at least eighty pounds on me._

Ollie heard footsteps ascending the staircase above and quickly raced above to the foyer, "John!"

Her two neighbors waited on the railings, having only expected the one she hadn't had the foresight to deconstruct her contraption. Darn. John looked down worriedly, "Are you all right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. But there's an idiot on my floor that I need help moving so if you wouldn't mind," Ollie asked motioning towards her place. John's eyes widened, "What!"

He rushed around her, descending the staircase to her door as Sherlock just lifted a delicate eyebrow in question. She shrugged, "What? It's not my fault he broke in. Besides if I recall it's the neighborly thing to help carry out unconscious men to the street."

John came back up holding a dart in one hand. Ollie looked towards the front door sheepishly, innocently humming as if she had no idea what it was. He stared at her dubiously, "Why was there a dart in his neck?"

"I have no idea?"

"Really, because it looked to me like you have a system of pulleys and levers wrapped around you door knob hooked to the trigger of a tranquilizer gun on a chair facing the entrance," John stated. She crossed her arms, "Oh, right that thing. Yeah, that's my on the cheap security system. Can never be to careful in this neighborhood."

John dropped his arm to his side shaking his head, "Do I even want to know?"

"Well-," Ollie tried to explain but Sherlock beat her to it. "Obviously she rigged her door in anticipation of my next flat breaking attempt. Lucky for me an imbecile set it off first. I'll have to proceed more carefully from now on since I know you'll be taking extra precautions. I applaud you for keep things interesting."

She scowled. Damn. So much for her element of surprise. She'd have to up the ante, protecting the two small windows in her apartment as well as the door. Maybe rigging the gun with a motion sensor next time since he'll be expecting the pulleys rigged to the front. Maybe secure the entrance with three guns instead of just the one? Each with a different vantage points. There's a thought. As Ollie began recalculating her security system Sherlock began calculating on how to evade them. All the while John watched exasperatedly, wondering how on earth he ended up living with two crazy people.

"Does anyone even know why a strange man broke into your home while we were out," he asked, gaining Sherlock's and Ollie's attention. She sighed, "I know why. And it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with him."

"Ah, you've met my Mycroft then I take it."

"He was very persistent."

"Did you take the money?"

"If I did would you leave me be," Ollie inquired. His cocky smirk was all the answer she needed. Apparently it didn't matter. Spying or no spying he'd still investigate her. "Well, there goes that idea."

John coughed grabbing their attention once again, "So if you two are done having a good flirt what do we do with the body?"

They both scowled at the army doctor. That was the second time today he'd implied there was a romantic inclination between the two. How absurd. Unfortunately there was no point in refuting his wild theory since what ever they said wouldn't change his mind. John would think whatever he liked. So there was no reason in dwelling on it.

"So," John asked. They looked to Ollie for an answer. She grinned a little manically, "I say we chuck him in the bin, but first I think we should send a message to Sherlock's brother don't you think?"

She pulled out a sharpie from her pocket, popping the cap as she did. Everyone smiled in agreement. After all, it was the neighborly thing to do.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading! And since a few of you readers liked the idea of a crossover with criminal minds I'll probably do a few chapters in the future during season two. I hope people will like them when I do. If they're well liked **__**enough I might do more that two or three :)**_

Ps. I'm so in a sherlock mood that I might add more chapters to this story before I finish the one for my other since I'm on a roll :) IDK my muse may change. After all creativity is a fickle mistress :)


	6. BB:A ghost of the Mind

_This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A__nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any. Also Sorry I didn't wrap it up as promised, next next chapter should wrap up the Banker episode I didn't realize the amount of stuff going on would take up so many pages._

___Her appearance per request (I should just do these regardless, I try and add it in bit by bit in the story to make it seem more natural but it never seem to work. sorry TT_TT) she's also on the image above:_

___AGE:26 ____EYE COLOR: Amber; also known as wolf eyes, they're pretty rare. Just google it if you want to see them. ____HAIR COLOR: blonde ____HEIGHT: 5'6" ; though she'll argue 5' 6 1/2" BUILD: thin, lean, hourglass CUP: c HERITAGE: American_

_____**Midnight Angel414: **Hooray! That means I'm doing a successful job :) I always look forward to your reviews :)  
_

___________**88dragon06: **Yes he did break in, the moral of that story kids is if someone breaks into your place and is unconscious on your floor you are entitled to what ever's in there pockets :) Here's the next one hope you like it as much as the last one!_

___________**Bored441:** Awesome! Thanks for find my story and reading it :) Glad you like it so far. And I love that word btw, Freakin'mazing_

___________**Amirizar2003: **If you read them all in one sitting I must be doing something right :) And you even reviewing to! Thank you! :)_

___________**13nyx13: **I have now described her :) Sorry I didn't do so correctly before. Glad you liked the pranking._

**There will be some flashbacks in this chapter pertaining to just before Ollie went incognito, enjoy. :)**

* * *

After takeout, light conversation with John, and just a little bit of wine, sleep had come relatively easy that night. Though staying under had been another matter entirely. Ollie had wished it was just nightmares causing her restless sleep, because then it'd just be her subconscious fears coming to the forefront. Something that could be dealt with. However that wasn't the case. This was something far worse.

Sweat dripped across her brow as her head twisted to and fro, breathing ragged and sharp. Vivid memory had her in its unyielding grip, appearing in violent flashes, refusing to relinquish her. _She was running, he legs burned for air, straining to keep her up, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Fear twisted deep inside her gut like a hot vice. Boots echoed hurriedly underfoot splashing through stagnant puddles, yellow coat billowing behind her. She had to hurry. She'd taken to long this time. Gotten distracted with the details that she'd missed the implication of the grander picture. She'd gotten cocky. And it could cost her more than she was ever willing to give. Defeat was not an option._

_An animalistic scream of anguish sliced across the air. A sudden burst of adrenaline shot into Ollie extremities at the sound, sending her hurtling even faster down the cold darkened corridor. The foul smell of decomposition and blood clung to the walls the further she travelled. Reaching towards the arc of light that sprang fourth from the only windowed hermetic doorway in the hall, she lifted her beretta up bursting through them. They swung back and fourth behind her. Her finger poised and ready on the trigger._

_The world melted away as she shut her eyes to adjust to the brightness. Reality returned as soon as she opened them. But all thought fled her, receding into the darkness as her mind became eerily still. Ollie's heart splintered into a million pieces, shattering onto the floor as a pitiful wail erupting from her. White hot raged burned and seared into her veins as cold despair stabbed her in the chest as she realized she had failed. They were gone. She lost._

Ollie gasped for air, a yell filled the silence as she found herself sitting upright on the couch. Taking in greedy gulps of oxygen she ran a shaky hand through her hair. That night still haunted her to this day. She hid it well. Focusing on her case so she wouldn't have to acknowledge it. But still, it lingered there in the back of her mind; waiting to spring fourth from it's dark prison.

The first few weeks after that night had gone down it was all she could see. Replaying over and over again. Awake or asleep. The smells stained into her mind. The sounds echoing in her ears. The pools of blood and carnage were forever imprinted behind her eyelids. She was practically catatonic from the mental strain. But, from pure will power and the need for white hot revenge, she'd slowly been able to suppress it. And once she'd finally been able to function she'd set off to rectify a terrible wrong, to bring justice even if it had to come by her own hand. Except seeing the dead body of Van Coon last night, seeing the blood dripping from his temple, it brought those images back to the forefront once again. She took a shuddering breath trying to regain her rapidly disappearing control. She should have realized the unintentional impact of following after Sherlock would have posed. Maybe she could have prevented the memory from springing forth like a water wiggle in an August heat. Prepared somehow. After all, everything had seemed fine yesterday. Only it was just the calm before the storm.

She leaned forward to rub her hands down her face but stopped halfway, just as her hands were covering her mouth and nose. An unknown warmth was felt from beside her. Her hair moved to the rhythm of human breathing, a presence that didn't bother to conceal itself. This wasn't her apartment. Eyes wide she carefully, not moving from out of her position, looked to the side. Sherlock studied her not a few inches away from her face. One hand gripping the arm of the couch behind her as he knelt over her. From his position she could tell he was about to try and rouse her, but when she bolted awake he must have paused. Not one to waste an opportunity he used it wisely. Deducing what he could from her sleep addled moment of vulnerability. Fear briefly gurgled up as she tried not to imagine what he may have gleaned from her short break down. His eyes met hers.

"Bad dream?"

"Sherlock, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't do your thing right now. Please."

"Bad memory then," his deep baritone stated. Ollie stiffened, her body going as ridged as a rock. His eyes dilated and contracted at her omission. "Relatively recent I imagine as it seemed to be quite vivid, extremely visceral, if the noises you were making were anything to go by. Your blood pressure's spiked, breathing is rapid, eccrine glands are producing terror induced sweat. So it was a traumatic event."

She immediately got up to leave, she should have expected he wouldn't relent; after all this was just a game to him. He wasn't doing it out of some sort of maliciousness. It was just his nature. Nothing more. But she didn't have to put up with it. Of course he wasn't quite finished yet, his emotionally stunted personality didn't care about her uncomforted or vulnerabilities. All he cared about was alleviating the boredom, even if it came at the cost of others. Effectively he placed his right arm on the other side of her, stopping her retreat, trapping her between the couch and himself. Blocking her exit. He had to know the truth.

He was to close. He leaned over her, crowding her, overwhelming her, those sharp blue eyes boring into her once again. Starting to read her like a book. Just like when he'd first questioned her. The act in itself unnerved her. His closeness made her feel vulnerable and she hated herself for it, hated him for the simple fact that he could elicit such reaction, especially since that was his aim.

His eyes honed in on her throat, watching as she swallowed in a strange sort of fascination. Sherlock moved onto the rest of her, cataloging every minuet detail. She was fighting to stop herself from biting her lips. Bosom heaving as she tried to gain control of her emotions. She was fracturing. As she was scrambling to regain her composure he deduced someone close to her had died before she had ended up in London. Murdered to be precise. And she must have either witnessed it or found the body else it wouldn't have sent her screaming awake. But it somehow factored into her secret. The question was how?

"Oh! So sorry dears. I should have knocked. Didn't mean to ruin your moment, don't mind me. I'll just be leaving," Mrs. Hudson spoke startled from the doorway as she misread the situation before her. After all, Sherlock was leaning over her in what many would consider an intimate pose. Coupled with their faces being so close and Ollies heavy breathing it was no wonder she'd misconstrued what she had witnessed.

Sherlock immediately pushed away from Ollie to stand up straight, "No need Mrs. Hudson. Olivia here was just about to leave to take a shower. She fell asleep after to much wine last night so she spent the night."

Ollie took a long deep breath to compose her self as she sat up straighter, scoffing, "I hardly drank anything. Don't let him fool you Mrs. Hudson. After all, I don't particularly like wine."

Sherlock walked over to his desk grabbing some photos of the graffiti from the bank, "Then why'd you drink it?"

"It was offered."

"So you drank it just because John offered it to you," he asked as he posted the images onto the mirror above the mantel piece. She shrugged, "I didn't want to seem rude."

"A completely unintelligent reasoning, how quaint."

Mrs. Hudson flittered happily into the kitchen waving a hand at them, "Oh look at you two. Just like a proper married couple."

Both consultants stiffened at the word _married_, then shivered slightly at the mentioning of _couple_. Though neither noticed. Ollie cleared her throat, "Right! Well, I'll just...yeah...bye Mrs. Hudson."

"Goodbye dear," she called out from the kitchen. Ollie waved in response as she scampered out of the room, retreating to the safety of the basement.

* * *

"_Pick up your phone for once in your life! I've been trying to call you for the past hour and a half. You-hello, are you even listening to me! Hey!"_

_Ollie stared straight ahead at the brick wall, not bother to acknowledging her visitor. Her focus was on the large light monitors that hung down from the high ceiling above, x-rays taped all over them of various body parts from various people. Her face never betrayed the emotion that she felt as she scrutinized them. She knew exactly the pain and suffering each victim had went through. The amount of horror they had withstood. Which ones fought the hardest. Which ones gave up. Who begged and pleaded. Screamed and cursed. She knew how it would end. Their crime scenes fanned out on the floor in a circle till she was surrounded by a sea of death blooming like a twisted flower; with her as it's center. Only a small space around her stool, where she sat, was left uncovered. It always ended the same._

_She slowly stood up, her bare feet smacked against the hardwood underneath. Begrudgingly she turned towards the deep voice, wiping her long hair into her face. Monroe, her partner and the only person who could put up with her, stood in the empty doorway looking much older than he was, his chocolate skin having lost it's usual glow. The stark contrast of light in the room caused him to appear even more imposing. Though it wasn't hard for a man his stature. He was two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. Pure muscle that was lividly clenching and unclenched his fists in repetitive motions by his sides. He was fuming and he had every right to be as she blamed herself as well. But it wasn't the time for him to come in yelling and releasing his his building emotions upon her. She needed to concentrate and his presence was hindering her thought process, distracting her with guilt and doubt. So she lashed out in an attempt to make him leave, to take the emotions with him and leave her with objective reason._

_"I'm sorry if I couldn't take the time to pick up a phone to fucking pacify your need for assurance that every thing's gonna be fine and dandy. That I'll figure it out in time. Because I can't promise that Monroe! I'm not some Messiah or super hero that you make me out to be. I can't make everything better. I can't always save every one," she broke off, her face crumpling with anguish. Monroe's light green eyes scrunched up with unshed tears, "Don't. Just don't. You don't get to be upset! You have no right. He was playing with you and you knew. You knew! And I warned you not to rise to his ploy. But you got so caught up with his twisted game that you got distracted and he took her Ollie. He just took her off the street...and you just sit here in the darkness with your thoughts. Brooding. Staring at the monitors full of x-rays and crime scene photo's, your even listening to witness statements over the stereo system, trying to find something thats not there!"_

_"The evidence never lies Roe. It's there. Right there. Staring me in the face. I'm close, so close. I just-I just...I can't…," She trailed off demurely while gripping her hair hard. Of all the times for her to have a mental block that precise moment was the worst. She should have had that case finished by the time victim seventeen was found. But something didn't seem right about it. She couldn't place it, but there were odd details missing. Like why were victims sixteen, twenty, and twenty-one missing organs? Her mind just couldn't get past the thought. Monroe contorted in rage, pointing violently as he approached the outer rim of grisly photo's, "Then what good are you! Because Ollie if she dies I'll-I'll-I...she trusted us. She trusted you! And he's going to-he's going to…well it's all over this room. For christ sakes why haven't you done anything yet. Why-"_

_"Because this one matters Roe," She screamed, interrupting his self righteous tirade. Her breathing becoming labored from the heighten emotions swelling underneath, "it's gotten me second guessing myself. Questioning everything. I never do that! I can't do that. I just can't. Or I'll…"_

_Monroe faltered at her expression. He'd never seen Ollie look so emotional. So close to the edge. So small and fragile. He mentally berated himself for taking his anger out on her, for not realizing that he wasn't the only one in anguish. He sighed rubbing a hand on his bare head, "What do you need?"_

_"To be alone."_

_He swallowed his protest in his throat before it had a chance to escape. She shouldn't be left alone, he didn't want to, but arguing wouldn't help find answers. He felt helpless, as everything rested on her shoulders. Her mind. He nodded weakly, "Alright. Ok. Fine. But answer your phone next time, please. I'm gonna stop by the police station. See if maybe they've got anything else. Maybe they forgot to put something in the files. Just...call if you find anything."_

_Her eyes squeezed shut as she swallowed, "I will."_

_Monroe gave her one last fleeting glance before walking off with a heavy heart, knowing that if she couldn't succeed that, he loathe to admit, he'd never be able to forgive her. She may not have been able to save everyone, but all he was asking was for just that one. Only one._

_ Ollie waited a few minutes, listening to the heavy steps of her partner fade away into their home, before returning to work. Stuffing her emotions down deep and out of the way. No more distractions. This case, how could she not have seen what was coming. The little clues the unsub left on the bodies all pandered to her morbid curiosities. He'd profiled her, pretty well too. But the worst part was that she was slightly impressed. That he knew she liked the interesting cases. That she couldn't resist a good game. But he'd gotten cocky. Took someone she'd cared for thinking it'd ruin her. Throw her off her game, yes. But ruin her, oh no. If anything it enraged her. Fueled her._

_Throwing the stool across the room she turned in the empty space of the photo circle, spinning around, each victim telling a story. _**_Olivia._**

_She twirled round and round. Their bodies sewn to others. He tortured them, experiment on them, and then once they were dead he froze them. Preserving them. Until he had enough bodies to hack up and put together like frankenstein's monster. _**_Olivia._**

_Victim one disappeared from an alley near the red light district two and a half years ago. A lady of the night with no family, no ties. No one to really miss her. So no one really tried to find her. She showed up dead on a park bench with victim two's arm, victims four and fives legs, and a patch of skin from an unknown sewn onto the back of her neck, two months ago. She was clothed in a vintage 50's Ceil Chapman dress, blue. Not something in her price range. _**_Olivia._**

_Victim two was last seen two years ago. A drug user. _**_Olivia._**_ No one ever reported her missing, the only way they knew when she disappeared was that the motel manager had went looking for his back rent and found it empty so he reported a theft to the authorities, he hadn't seen her for five weeks. She had four's arm, one's finger, fives hand, and fours ear. She wore the same styled dress. Again not something she could afford. _**_Olivia._**

_Victim three was taken one year and ten months ago. She was a runaway, the youngest of his victims. Sixteen. _**_Olivia!_**

Ollie suddenly found herself thrust from memory. She blinked and furrowed her eyebrows as Sherlocks face focused into view. He was hovering over her as she lay on the couch trying to gain her attention, "Good, your finally responsive. Grab your coat. We've got another one."

She shot upright just as he started to leave her living room. Her traps dismantled and unloaded. He grabbed her golden yellow Dolce and Gabbana, her one luxury item, by the door flinging it at her, "Nice try with the heat sensor. But do try harder next time."

She grabbed it but made no move to put article on, "Sherlock, I don't think I should go. Just take John."

"I am, but I need my profiler, so you're coming. Unless of course you want people to know of your current residence."

She tried not to bristle at his statement, "Why would I care?"

A small smirk formed upon his pale lips, "Oh I think you do, very much so. Else you wouldn't have made it so hard for me to find you online. Nice trick by the way. Have help did you?"

"What did you find?"

He gave her a small coy smile, "Put on your coat miss Knight."

She didn't know if it was due to reliving painful memories or the fact that he knew her real last name but she obediently did as she was told. Following him out, after fixing one or two of her traps, she spotted John waiting for them on the landing. He gave her a soft smile, "Sorry. I tried to have him leave you be but he's being impossible at the moment. And-are you alright? You're looking a bit pale."

She shook her head waving him off, "I'm fine. So where is it that we're going?"

* * *

_New Scotland yard. Great just great, _Ollie mentally cringed. Not exactly the best place to remain incognito, even if her fake ID's were top notch. The risk of getting caught made her a bit antsy regardless, even if she was a tiny bit exhilarated as well. She glanced sideways to see if Sherlock may have picked up on that but found his attention was firmly place on one spot. Thank god. They carefully wove through the open office floor and approached the tiny desk of DI Dimmock. He looked up and scowled when he noticed Sherlock, "Oh no, no, no. What are you doing here?"

"It's nice to see you to Detective Inspector, but I'm not here to exchange pleasantries. Your laptop, if you please," Sherlock nonchalantly asked. Dimmock begrudgingly turned it around, deciding to humor him since he had a lot of respect for Lestrade and trusted the man's judgment. No matter how misplaced he thought it was. He crossed his arms watching carefully as Sherlocks elegant fingers danced across the keyboard. An internet window popped up of an article about a man. Deceased. He flipped the screen back round, "Brian Lukis. Freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat. The door locked from the inside."

John shrugged, "You've got to admit it's similar. Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls!"

Dimmock looked at the screen agitatedly then back to the consulting detective. Even he saw the similarities between the cases but they were flimsy at best. He didn't exactly know what the man wanted him to do. "Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide," Sherlock asked. Dimmock's jaw tightened as he glanced away. Her neighbor sighed heavily a bit disappointed in the inspector, "You've seen the ballistics report, I suppose?"

Dimmock nodded. "Ah," the consultant spoke as if addressing a two year old, "And? The shot that killed him was it fired from his own gun."

"No."

"No. So, this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel."

Ollie pursed her lips at the exchange,_ I wonder if I'm that rude when I'm openly on a case. _Sherlock leaned down against the desk almost invading in the inspectors personal space, "I've just handed you a murder enquiry. Five minutes in his flat."

Dimmock looked to John not believing how arrogantly rude the man standing before him was. John smiled wanly knowing the face he was receiving to well, the one that said the person was one word away from punching the consultant, "He makes everyone feel like that."

With a sigh the DI conceded defeat and grabbed his coat, "Alright, but I'm coming with you. We'll take my car."

"Not necessary. We'll grab a cab and meet you there," Sherlock stated. John frowned, "Why don't we just take his offer. It'd be easier on our wallets."

"It's not up for debate."

John crossed his arms. "There are three of us. Why don't we put it to a vote. Those in favor of a cab," Sherlock scoffed but raised his arm. "Those in favor of riding with Dimmock," John said as he then raised his creating a tie. They both turned to Ollie, the swing vote. She appeared thoughtful as she tapped a finger to her mouth. Sherlock eyed their hold out, "Olivia?"

She turned to the inspector, "Can I Drive?"

His stared at her as if she asked to shoot his leg, "No."

"Can we turn on the sirens?"

"No."

"Can I shoot your gun?"

"No! What is wrong with you?!"

"The can I at least have the front seat?"

"No," Sherlock drawled, tired of waiting for the inevitable conclusion that would result in his favor. Ollie frowned, "I vote cab then. I don't particularly care for the back of a police cruiser, they always smell funny."

Sherlock's lips quirked at the unintentional insinuation, that she'd seen the back of one before. He filed that tidbit away for later.

* * *

Ollie walked underneath the yellow crime scene tape up the stairs into the apartment of one Brian Lukis. It was dusty, chaotic partly due to someone who had violently searched for something; and from the amount of books in the room the resident was clearly a bibliophile. It was also apparent the man didn't have any female relations as it was clearly lacking in that feminine touch that came from a girlfriend or a wife, so he was as well single.

She then noticed a small black ball of parchment similar to the lotus in Van Coons mouth laying on the floor. She wondered if Sherlock had spotted it as well as he went around the room. He walked over to a window peering out the drapes, "Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe. Put the chain across the door, bolt it shut. They think they're impregnable. They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in."

He rushed over to a hallway and stood up onto a table, using it to examine a skylight above it. Dimmock followed after him confused, "I don't understand."

"We're dealing with a killer who can climb."

"What are you doing," he asked as Sherlock propped open the window. "He clings to walls like an insect. That's how he got in," he said whispering the last part. Dimmock tried to catch up to the implication, "What?"

"He climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof and dropped in through the skylight."

"You're not serious? Like spiderman."

"More like catwoman," Ollie interjected. _Besides Sherlock's always serious,_ she mentally argued. Plus he was right. It made sense after all, it was the only explanation that fit. If thieves could do it why not murderers.

Sherlock raised his voice at having to explain to a lesser intelligence who couldn't seem to grasp the concept of deductive reasoning, "He scaled six floors of a balcony in Docklands to kill Eddie Van Coon."

"Oh, now hold on…" Dimmock huffed but Sherlock didn't stop. "And of course that's how he got into the bank. Rang along the window ledge and on to the terrace."

He jumped of the table. Started surveying the area, "We have to find out what connects these two men."

Dashing around, he combed the living area till he reached the stairway. Ollie observed him. She still couldn't quite get over how fascinating she found watching another person see things that usually only she noticed. Possibly even more than her. It was very surreal. Sherlock tilted his head to the side stepping down the stairs slightly. He must have spotted something because he picked up a thick red book. His eyes marginally widening confirmed her analysis. He slammed it shut and raced out of the apartment.

Ollie pulled on John's arm, "We better hurry. He's run off by himself again."

"Oh for Christ sakes. Sherlock!"

Dimmock leaned over the banister, "Wait! Where are you going?"

"Sorry inspector but we gotta go! Thanks for letting us sulk around your lovely crime scene," Ollie shouted as they ducked under the tape. They clomped down the hallway bursting through the exit to the stairwell. Bolting down a couple of flights they caught up to Sherlock on the street just as he was hailed a cab. "You could have told us we were leaving," John reprimanded his roommate. "Olivia had been observing my movements so I knew she would inform you of my departure," Sherlock informed matter of factly as he slid into the car. John and Ollie followed suit, jumping into the seats facing the front. "Where to," the cabbie inquired as he merged with the traffic. "West Kingston Library."

John raised an eyebrow, "Why there?"

"Because of this," Sherlock responded showing him the book he nicked on his way out the door. John gave it a once over, but couldn't come up with how it related to the case, his neural pathways just didn't work that way. "Because of a book. What are we returning it?"

"Something like that," he answered before looking out the window, delving into thought. Seeing that he wasn't going to explain any further the army Doctor, intern, gazed out the window as well, figuring that Sherlock needed the quiet to think. Ollie took notice of how he accommodated his roommates needs. She felt a slight pang in her chest at the interaction. It reminded her of what she used to have. Frowning she took to watching the tall tanned marbled buildings zoom past. A laughing man and woman running across the side road caught her eye. She suddenly, and without warning, found herself thrown into a memory. _"God, give you a murder and you're like a kid in a candy store."_

_Ollie grinned at her partner from across the table with a bunch of crime scene photos in her hand. Monroe shook his head frowning, but his eyes clearly stated that he found her antics amusing. He almost always did. That being the reason why they got on so well. Why he'd never leave her. After all, she didn't really have anyone else. Someone needed to keep her in line and it happened to be a full time occupation._

_She ran around the table holding one of the photos towards him like it was show and tell, "But Roe look at this! It's so-so interestingly fascinating. I've never seen an unsub do something like this before. This one looks like it may even be a challenge. It's like my birthday came early!"_

_He laughed, the sound reverberating deep in his chest, "Your incorrigible! Don't let Carson here that. Or really anyone else for that matter."_

_"What!? Why?"_

_"It's an inappropriate reaction."_

_She tilted her head to the side, "Social suicide?"_

_"Social suicide."_

_She hummed her acknowledgment as she jumped to sit up on the table. Extracting a universal remote from her pocket she pressed one of it's buttons. A screen lowered out of the ceiling. "Do you know what the media's calling him," she asked turning it on. He quirked an eyebrow, "I thought you hated it when the media names the unsub?"_

_"I do since it feeds into their ego, but I can on occasion appreciate them. This one seemed quite fitting."_

_"So what are they calling him then?"_

_She smirked flicking the screen onto a web browser, a news article appeared, "Doctor Frankenstein."_

"Ollie we're here."

She blinked her way back to reality, "Huh?"

"Come on," John smiled offering his hand to help her out. She grabbed it, "Right. Thanks."

"No problem."

Entering the huge five story library the group quickly traveled up a few floors of escalators till the reached one of the more quieter areas. Sherlock went to a scanner on a pillar to check for what section the red book originated from. The machine beeped and as the others scanned the readout, he was already fast on his feet in the other direction. Zig zagging though a couple isles he didn't stop till he found the one he sought, "The date stamped on the book is the same day that he died."

He walked over to a rack and pulled out an identical copy to the one he had. He immediately rummaged through the shelf checking the contents and spines of the other books, searching for comparisons and similarities as well as a clue. John absent mindedly tug on a few novels near him copying the other man's action, though he knew not why. At least that was till, sliding them in and out, he noticed something yellow painted onto the back of the shelving, "Sherlock."

He turned to the speaking of his name and walked over, removing books till a symbol was visible on the panelling. The same one from the bank. There was no doubt both men were killed by the same person. The reason partially unknown. All Ollie could tell was that they had something the killer wanted. Sherlock snapped a photo with his phone, "Time to head back."

* * *

The picture from the library was newly added to Sherlocks mirror of crime in his living room. Though if anyone were to profile why he chose that spot to post them it would be because he was narcissistic. Not in the sense of looks, though she was sure he was aware that he was what society deemed ascetically appealing. No, he was vain about his intellectual prowess and deductive abilities. Ollie bit her cheek to stop herself from dissecting his choice of wall hangings further. She didn't need anymore useless information clogging up her brain.

Sherlock moved to stand in front of his presentation, going over the facts, "So. The killer goes to the bank, leaves the threatening cipher for Van Coon. Van Coon panics. Returns to his apartment and locks himself in. Just hours later...he dies."

"The killer finds Lukis at the library, he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen. Lukis goes home…," John trails off as Sherlock finishes his sentence. "... and that night he dies too."

He places a hand on the picture of the bank manager's painting. His mind analyzing the code. Trying to decipher it. Picking apart it's components with no luck. John sighed, "Why did they have to die Sherlock?"

"Only the cypher can tell us."

"So what do we do now," John asked, getting swept up further into the case. Sherlock continued to examine his photo's, "We need to make for the National Gallery. Why don't you hold us cab. Olivia and I will be right there."

John looked to Ollie who tried to convey with her eyes for him to protest, but if he ever received the message he never let it show. "Alright but you're paying for this one," He added. Ollie watched her buffer left, making to sneak out with him when a hand lightly gripped her arm, trapping her.

She turned around so that she was facing the consulting detective. Ollie found herself being pulled into those electric blue eyes of his. Almost knocking her off guard. Almost.

"You've been unusually quite. Anything to add," Sherlock inquired. She shook her head shrugging, "No. Not really."

A small flash of agitation blemished his features before it disappear as he pinned her to the wall, grabbing her other hand just before she punched him, then effectively immobilizing her legs by parting them with one of his, and leaned against her so she had no room to move. Fully pinning her against his wall, "I'm getting quite tired of you interfering with my investigations by with holding your insights. Now stop playing dumb."

She tried squirming her way out of his hold but knew it was useless. If anything it just made his proximity much more unnerving. She could feel his breath on her face, the heat radiating off him in waves, his chest pushing into her with every breath he took and his unwavering gaze boring into her every pore. She gulped trying to avoid eye contact, "Why does it matter?"

"Because despite what you may think I value a second opinion. Sometimes they can be very helpful in showing me a possibility I might not have gotten to till later in the investigation."

_Or just to further prove you're right, _she mentally added. "Fine. Since you're so insistent. The unsub's very task oriented, he got in got out with no problems. Never deviated from his M.O. He's somewhat intelligent since he has the forethought to leave no prints or DNA behind, even has the presence of mind in seizing an opportunity to make a murder appear like a suicide. Yet he leaves a calling card, the origami black lotus, so he want's people to know he killed those men. So he wants credit. He's sending a message. Leads me to believe he's from organized crime. Why organized crime? Well, if he was your run of the mill serial killer the lotus would indicate he's vain and he want's attention, wants to make a name for himself. Except if he were those things he wouldn't have tried to cover up his first murder. He also has neither contacted any media or taunted any law enforcement. He's left each crimes relatively cut and dry yet, not so much that anyone even thought to link them till you pointed it out. Plus, he has a very unique skill set of gain access hard to reach places that would require a disciplined strength. Such as roofs and windows stories up, something a thief or an assassin would use. So organized crime."

"What makes you think it's a he," Sherlock interrupted. She pursed her lip at the disruption. Ollie just wanted to get this over with and regain her personal space, "It's the usual assumption I go with till evidence proves other wise since statistically speaking males predominantly commit murder. Can I continue since I'm not quiet finished."

"By all means."

"So Van Coon and Lukis, two different people from two very different circles in society, they have to intersect somewhere since I'm quite certain they were targeted. Since, if you noticed, which I'm sure you have, their homes were ransacked. Lukis's more than Van Coons. Leading me to believe the unsub was certain Lukis had what he was searching for since he didn't find what ever it was at Van Coons, so he was more panicked at the last victims home because by process of elimination he should have found it. So one of them must have acquired something they shouldn't posse. Now how do I know the unsub searched their homes. Well, you must have noticed the indent in Eddies suit case, something was there. And there were small outlines of dust where the unsub tried to put things back in place. Then there were allot more dust outlines at Lukis's home, as he was to panicked to put everything back in place, hence the fevered search. Any questions, comments, or concerns?"

Sherlocks irises dilated as he subconsciously leaned more into her after she finished her deduction. His face not to far from hers. Ollie tried to gauge his reaction as his eyes turned a shade darker. Something heated and unknown passed through them, "Much better. I suppose it comes in handy to have a profiler with a superior autobiographical memory. You do have your perks don't you."

"If it were anyone but you I'd think you were flirting. But it's you, and you're a sociopath, so you're just stating a fact. And it's ex-profiler."

She then groaned realizing something. "You know bout the memory thing now."

"I did say I looked you up. And it accounts for why nothing was moved when you searched my flat yesterday."

"I didn't-."

He cut her off, "you did."

She raised an eyebrow of challenge, "Your proof?"

"Your scent."

She flustered at the statement, stuttering, "My-my w-what!?"

"A distinct citrus. Your shampoo."

"Well, I was in here a few days ago. Remember. My laundry," Ollie reminded. "Yes, but it wouldn't have lingered this long. What, didn't think I'd work that out," Sherlock countered smugly. She sighed, "No. But I was hoping."

"You can't out smart me Olivia. I'd say give up now and save yourself the trouble but what would I do with the rest of my weekend," he taunted, trying to rile her as he leaned ever closer. Ollie couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from his as their proximity increased more and more. Soon there'd be no space left between them. Neither really knowing what would happen. Her face flushed against her will.

* * *

_Oh I'm so mean I left you on such a cliffie! Will they kiss will they not kiss, oh that is the question isn't it Shakespeare. I might eve put in a few more flash backs before we get to the great game. There will be cases before that ep. as well. I'm looking forward to righting those as I already have a couple ideas :)_


	7. BB:The ASBO Distraction

_This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A__nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

**Tibble: **_awesome name btw. I am aren't I :D sorry I suck at grammar sometimes, ok a lot of the times. I'm glad your enjoying it so far. And THANK YOU TT_TT for think it's the best one you've read so far. Makes me happy :)_

**Cathrinealice: **_Well look no further here's the next update :)_

**LavishDish: **_Ha! No Mrs. Hudson this time, lol :) and after the Blind banker's over a CM Character will be making an appearance :D I might even put in some more flash backs soon as well. IDK what ever goes well with the story and developes it further i guess :)_

**Celes Warren: **_You are seventy percent right :D_

**88dragon06: **_He'll have to find out fast because her life may very well depend on the information he gleans from their encounters OoOoO :)_

**Midnight Angel414: **_Thank you so much! I always look forward to your review. :D I'm glad you think it's full of chemistry that means I have succeeded :D_

**Lila: **_Great! :D They're like children on their b-day when it comes to serial killers :) Note to self get sherlock a serial killer for his birthday. lol :)_

**Amirizar2003: **_Thank you awesome person for your appreciation :D More of her past will be showing up soon, but not this chapter that much._

* * *

"Cab."

Ollie blinked a couple of times to shake off whatever spell she had found herself under. She swallowed, "The what?"

"John should have secured transport by now. If we wait any longer we may loose our ride," he informed as he released her arms but yet made no effort to move away. Her lips parted slightly as she lightly nodded her head in agreement, "Ah, yes that would be counter productive."

Sherlock lingered for a few more seconds, his eyes probing her features as he settled on something bellow her nose. Instantly he backed up and walking to the door, grabbing his coat as he went. He shrugged into the item as he made his way down the stairs. Once he was gone Ollie let out a breath of air she hadn't realized she'd been storing as she leaned her head back against the wall in relief. _Well that was unnecessarily intense, _she internally mused placing a hand on her chest only to find her heart racing. Her face scrunched in confusion as she thought it odd to have her pulse jumping so rapidly over someone's close proximity. Hell she'd been stuck in rooms with serial killers and never had her pulse race as fast as it was at that moment.

"Olivia," Sherlock's voice called out from below. Letting out a calming puff of air she pushed off the wall and trampled down the steps to the ground floor. Hands shoved in her pockets she almost skipped her way past Sherlock out to the walkway. For some reason their talk had given her a burst of renewed adrenaline, leaving her energized. Wired almost. She walked over to the cab and jumped into the seat next to John. Sherlock followed suit, sitting across from them. He then promptly informed the driver of their intended destination when he took notice of John looking between the two of them. "Something you'd care to add John?"

His mouth quirked in amusement, "No, not really. Just that you two were up there an awfully long time. When you came down you looked a bit flustered, Ollie's hair was all mussed up, her cheeks were flushed, so it leaves one to wonder..."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side ever so slightly trying to gauge just what his roommate was trying to insinuate. Calculating John's recent behavior towards the two consultants, coupled with his current demeanor, and the facts he had stated, led him to only one conclusion. He boredly stared at his friend, "We didn't have intercourse if that's what your implying."

"Bit of a snog then," he smirked. Ollie placed the back of her hand to John's forehead and put the other one on hers, checking something. He raised an eyebrow, "Why are you taking my temp?"

She gently recoiled her hand, "Just checkin' since you were spouting crazy statements. Thought you might be running a fever. But alas no. Perhaps you have a brain tumor pushing against your frontal lobe or the Wernicke's Area of the temporal lobe, could account for the weird nonsense you've been saying or maybe-."

"Alright," John interrupted, "I get it. There's nothing going on between the two of you. I'll shut my gob from now on."

The two consultants gave each other a satisfied look at being assured John would stop his meddling, trying to make stuff out of something that wasn't. However if they had looked over to the army doctor they'd notice the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. Confirming John had no plans of stopping, maybe putting things on pause for a little, but not stopping. He's just built that way after all.

* * *

People walked past intersecting each other, their conversations almost muffled by the din of cars whizzing past. Big red double decker busses, that London was infamous for, moved on towards their destinations; tourist snapping photo's grinned to each other on the top tier. Ollie set foot onto the concrete island keeping a wary eye on her surroundings, she'd become more paranoid of wide open spaces as of recent. The further into her investigation the increased likely hood of being killed by a snipers bullet. More than a few of those who came before her had ended up like that and they had only been poking around the fringes of the global crime web. God knows what would happen to her.

Assessing the people sitting on the large water fountain for any hidden threats to her persons she heard John ask Sherlock a question, "So how come you haven't been able to decipher the code so far? I mean from your massive intellect you're always going on about I would have thought you'd have some computer algorithm lying around for something like this."

Sherlock shot him a pointed look, "The world runs on codes and ciphers, John, but the million pound security system at the bank to the pin machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment."

John shoved his hands in his coat walking ahead of the two consultants. "Yes. Ok, but-," John stopped as Sherlock rudely cut in to finish where he left off. "But it's all computer generated. Electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different," he stated as they made it to the stone steps in front of the old roman catholic architecture of the antiquities museum. Groups of people cluttered the stairs loitering with fellow tourist and friends as they chatted. Sherlock paid them no mind as he scanned the sea of faces and led them up, sending a pigeon flying away due to human proximity, "It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it."

"Where we headed," John inquired, as they dashed up the steps. Sherlock strode up two at a time clearly in a hurry, scanning the building before them, clearly looking for someone. "I need to ask some advice."

"What? Sorry," John asked trying not to smile. Evidently amused by the fact that Sherlock would even want anyones advice, considering the man always thought he was right. He stared at him thinking he heard wrong. Sherlock, sensing his amusement, scowled, "You heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again."

Ollie herself tried not to laugh at John's obvious mirth of Sherlock's admission. His smile broadened, "You need advice."

The consulting detective huffed at the other man's childishness, picking up the pace, and veered for the side alley next to the gallery, "On painting. Yes. I need to talk to an expert."

Ollie quirked an eye brow at his statement but because she was behind both men they hadn't seen it. She mentally frowned, to bad she was undercover. She had a very good painting expert, an old friend of hers she used to run with as a child. She smiled at the memory of evading the police. It was a much simpler time back then.

Ducking into the alleyway she noticed a young man about nineteen or so dressed in oversized clothes, most likely a counter measure. It made identification a little harder as it skewed his weight class. His clothes, albeit not designer, definitely lead her to believe it was a conscious effort. He was an atypical street artist who wore a black hoodie, baggy jeans, and converse shoes; the tread of them were quite worn alluding to the fact he did a lot of running. Most likely from authorities as the maroon duffle bag sitting at his feet were full of spray cans. One's he was using to tag up the wall. The image he chose to stencil caused Ollie to pause with a smirk of appreciation, a police man with a pigs face. Adding everything up from observation she immediately knew his type. A rebel against authority.

Due to the boys hyper-vigilance that came with the territory of being a graffiti artist avoiding patrols, to do his work, he immediately spotted them from the corner of his eye, knowing who was behind him without even glancing back. Writing RAZ, his signature, underneath his pig police he acknowledged them without taking attention away from his latest piece, "Part of my new exhibition."

Sherlock gave it a quick once over as he pulled his phone out of his coat, clearly not caring, "Interesting."

Raz shook his cans stepping back a bit to admire his work chuckling at it, "I call it urban blood lust frenzy."

John licked his lips not really knowing what they were doing there, "Catchy."

"Love it," Ollie stated as she crossed her arms together grinning at the piece. Hearing a distinctly feminine voice, an american one at that, the guy turned to see it's owner. He gave Ollie a flirty smile, "Well _hello_!"

Sherlock cleared his throat not liking that the attention was torn away from him all over female wiles the boy never had a chance at. He need information and his counsel wasn't paying him any heed. Hearing the noise he must have realized this wasn't a social visit, though with Sherlock it probably never was. "I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner. Can we do this while I'm working?"

Sherlock extended the phone to him and Raz threw the can to John who instinctually caught it. He flicked through the images taken from the library and the bank.

"Know the author," Sherlock inquired. The kid shifted to his left leg, "Recognize the paint. Likely Michigan, hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."

Sherlock motioned to the phone with his chin, "And what about the symbols? Do you recognize them?"

Raz squinted down at the screen, "I'm not even sure it's a proper language."

Sherlock appeared frustrated at the answer as his eyebrows contorted together, "Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"And this is all you got to go on? This is hardly much now is it."

"Are you gonna help us or not?"

"I'll ask around," he nodded with a '_whatever_' attitude as he leaned more into his left leg in a defensive position. Posturing at the authoritative tone instictually. Sherlock stoically stared at him, "Somebody must know something about it."

Just then, Ollie heard the approach of patent leather footsteps echoing from around the way. She smacked Sherlocks arm lightly in warning, "I think it's time for us to depart."

Right as she said that two officers rounded the corner and noticed the aerosol cans. "Oi!"

They came rushing over as John just stood there staring at them, clearly blanking at what was in his hand. It was obvious he'd never been a rebellious kid since he didn't respond as one should when a cop called _Oi! _So his self preservation hadn't kicked in as it was trained to implicitly trust the authorities. The other three however, knew the correct reaction and scattered racing in the opposite direction. But not before Raz kicked the bag full of cans in front of the army doctor. Leaving him literally holding the bag.

Running a good five minutes in and out of alleyways Ollie stopped in a backstreet sitting herself down on a crate near a few trash cans. She felt a bit guilty for bailing on John, she could have at least tried to grab his hand and pull him along, but she couldn't afford to get caught and then printed. DNA never lies after all, though the records that are kept can be misleading. Hers unfortunately were up to date. So no getting caught or else.

Taking a glance to the left and then to the right she noticed she'd lost Sherlock during her sprint. She knew where he'd end up though. After all, she'd seen the look in his eye when Raz said language. He'd be on his way back to his living room to do research. Speaking of which, seeing an opportunity to get away and not have to worry about Sherlocks curiosity—since he'd be to focused on his own case—Ollie figured she'd check on hers. But first a change of clothes would be necessary, she needn't stand out.

Getting up she made her way onto the street, looking around for shops in the area. There was a small bank, a couple coffee shops, a salon, a small habitat outlet, and a restaurant, but no clothing stores. _Drats. _Darting her eyes around the area she considered the people around her and what they could offer. Calculating who she could get to sell her the supplies she required. She needed a dark hooded jacket that was semi stylish as not to stand out but not name brand, she narrowed that item down to two people. She decided to go with the one who only paid fifty pounds for the jacket and was having money troubles, they'd be an easy buy. The bag pack she needed however might be a little more difficult as the person would undoubtedly have stuff in it, so parting with the item would require more charming on her part.

Grabbing some cash out of her bra Ollie raced across the street and ran up next to her chosen item holder. The woman was currently window shopping, gazing at a hundred pound dinnerware set in sad longing. Between the lip bitting, to the state of her nails, and the well worn jeans it was obvious she was having financial troubles due to the fact she was an undergraduate college student trying to support herself in the city. She lightly tapped the brunette on the shoulder causing her to jump and spin around in fright. The woman blinked surprised as Ollie tried to look sheepish and apologetic, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to give you a scare I just wanted to ask you something."

The woman lightly laughed as she held a hand to her chest, "No, that's alright. I was just off in my own head. Did you need directions?"

Ollie shook her head, "No. It's my friend you see. She just rang me crying, totally mortified. I guess she had a wardrobe malfunction and has locked herself in the ladies at work. She's supposed to go on an interview and needs a black coat. So I was wondering if I were to give you three hundred pounds if I could have your coat. Sorry, I know this must seem extremely weird and I feel embarrassed for having to ask but my friend is so distressed. I hope I didn't come off as rude."

The brunette seemed to immediately love that idea, if the pleasantly surprised look on her face was anything to go by. Ollie could tell she was trying not to smile as she subconsciously started getting out of her coat, calculating the profit, before she even agreed, "Oh, of course! I mean I would hate it if my friend were left cryin'. So here."

She folded up her coat giving it to Ollie as the cash was placed into her hand. The woman counted it before trying to look humble, "I hope your friends interview goes well."

"Thank you, I do to. You've been a great help," Ollie replied as she walked away. That way the brunette could do what she wanted without feeling guilty—i.e. buying the set in the window. The consultant didn't even have to look back to know the woman had gone in the store. Instantly, Ollie went to work on acquiring the next item. She spotted seven bag packs within her proximity. Two were bright with outlandish colors, so they were quickly crossed off the list, three were too full of stuff that the owner would be hard pressed to part with them and one was clearly sentimental in value so that left her with only one real choice. Studying him she noticed she could probably get the bag for free if she went about it the right way. She just needed to say the right words. Placing her best girly girl smile on she jogged over to him, waving her right arm as she did, "Hey, excuse me."

* * *

Ollie slipped onto the large campus of Imperial College quite easily. Her yellow jacket packed neatly into the bag she now had slung over her left shoulder. The hood on her coat obstructed her face from peering eyes, yet because the jacket was semi-stylish, and she was female, no one would mistake her for suspicious. One of the benefits of being the fairer sex, people were more likely to trust you.

Knowing exactly who she needed to speak with as she scanned the quad she walked over to a male student sitting on a bench near queens tower. From his posture she could tell he was a student of computing so he would most likely know where the man she was searching for would be. Thankfully, because of the time of year it was, Ollie could easily pass herself as a lost late admission.

Standing in front of the student she fiddled with the strap of her bag and bit her lip as if she were nervous. She slipped into a British accent, "U-um, excuse me."

When the boy looked up at her she shifted her eyes to the ground and then away before placed them back onto him, though she made sure not to make eye contact. She needed to come off as a shy individual. The student sensing her '_unease'_ gave her a reassuring smile, "What can I help you with?"

She shifted her stance, bitting at her lip once again, before asking her question, "Sorry I don't mean to be a bother, but it's just I'm a bit lost. I'm supposed to have a chat with Dr. Berkin since I'm a late admission. Um, he's a professor in the computing department. Do you know where I could find him?"

"Yeah he'd be in the Huxley building on the third floor lecture hall," he pointed to the left behind her, "Take a left past the central library—there—keeping going straight. It's the large building covered with a plethora of windows except towards the lower floor, on the left side of the street."

She gave him a shy smile, "Thanks."

"No problem."

With that said she hefted her bag higher onto her shoulder and jogged off, her faked persona slipping off like a strippers bra at peak hours. Making her way through the side alley between the library and the laboratories, Ollie pulled up a mental map of the area from a memory. Taking a quick left out of the alley she ran across the road towards her destination. Knowing she'd need an ID to get in—since this was a top of the line wealthy school that worked occasionally on government projects—she surveyed the people ahead of her, searching for those she resembled the most. Unfortunately there weren't that many students leaving the area, as most were still in class, but she spotted one that could work in a pinch. She _'accidentally'_ bumped into her, knocking her bag onto the ground and spilling it's contents. Through out the whole action she expertly slipped her hands into the woman's pockets before the girl could react to the bump, "Oi! Watch it!"

"I am so sorry," Ollie apologized before covering up the slight frown that had graced her features when she had come up empty. Immediately the profiler bent down on the ground to help collect the woman's items, "I can't believe how incredibly clumsy I am. I mean I'm always falling into people. You think I'd be more careful."

The woman gave her an aggravated look as she knelt down to snatch the binder in Ollies hands, "Give me that! I don't need your help so just bugger off."

While the woman was busy scowling at her Ollie used her slight of hand to grab the ID from under a book. She got up and made a slight bowing motion with her head as she apologized again looking frazzled, "I really am sorry."

The other woman threw out a few more rude sentences as she scooped up the rest of her things and walked away in a huff. Ollie tried not to smirk at her departure as she clipped the ID to her breast pocket, that way the guards would be to busy looking at her breasts than details. All they'd notice is blonde hair and that'd be about it. They wouldn't even take a second look at her face.

Standing up taller she jutted her chest out more, to make them a more prominent feature as she strutted through the front entrance. Like she calculated, the two guards at the front desk looked right she wanted them to, as she shot them a smile and she headed for the stairwell. When the metal door clicked shut behind her she raced up the steps two at a time till she reached the third floor. Out in hallway, only a few students were present talking amicable to each other as she passed them.

The hall itself didn't have much in the way of furnishing but it did appear very earthy with it's oak wall panelling. Passing a couple laboratories and a few classes in session Ollie peeked in each one searching for her the correct professor, till she came to an empty lecture hall. A stoutly man, in his mid-sixties, stood behind a wooden podium; his brown eyes scanning the lesson plan as he played with the power point behind him.

His face was filled in a deep concentration making the laugh lines around his eyes much more noticeable. He worn the usually stuffy professor clothing, Ollies vision trailed down to his cuff links which she noted had pastry crumbs on them. She smirk, _looks like he hasn't changed. Still feeding his addiction. _Clearing her throat Dr. Berkin twirled around toward the noise in surprise. She slowly approached the small russian man taking a look around before giving him her signature grin.

"Ollie is that you!? Ha ha, it is. It is," Dr. Berkin waddled over to give her a squeeze. Patting her back with his pudgy hands he pulled away, "What are you doing here."

She shrugged, "Well, I was in the area and thought I'd run a few errands. Uh...here could you look at this for me?"

She pulled out a picture of the symbols she'd taken from Sherlocks home and handed it to her friend. "I was wondering if you might know what these are, since you have excellent code breaking skills. It's an ancient language that much I know."

Pulling on his small bifocals from out of his sweater, he peered down at the image. A look of recognition quickly flashed across his face. He pointed at the symbols, "Ah yes. I do know these actually. During the war I decoded a few messages sent from chinese allies with this type of symboling. It's called Hang Zhou. It's an ancient numbers system. The single line is a one and this squiggle here is a fifteen," he spoke as he handed it back to her, "How'd you come across it?"

Stuffing the photo back into her coat, she waved his question away, changin the subject. "Don't worry about it. Anyway, the real reason I'm here is I wanted to know how my project was coming along?"

The man froze. His whole demeanor suddenly shifted as he quickly looked around in a paranoid fashion, pulling her further into the room as he quietly shut the door. He whispered to her in a hushed tone, "I'm just about done. But we can't talk here. I don't know what you've gotten yourself into but I swear someone might be following me. Here."

He gave her a convenient store bought cell phone, shoving it into her hand. She gazed at it then looked back to him. Ollie grew worried by his behavior, "Arthur, are you alright? You haven't been threatened or anything, have you? If this is getting to be to much I could just take what you have and you could walk away now."

He shook his head, "No. I have to finish. What I've found so far...well it's quite alarming. Olivia," he grabbed both her hands in his, "if what you found is true then it's already to late for me to quit. This is too important."

His attention diverted to the hallway as footsteps were heard. He turned back to Ollie, "Keep this phone. When I'm done, we'll set up a meet. If I don't show up...if I don't show up you run and you hide. Because if they can get to me then," his attention wandered to the door again as the feet grew closer as he hurried his sentence, "then they can get to you. Now go before anyone sees you. I have a class about to converge on this room. Hurry, go."

He waved her off. She took one more glance back at him before slipping into the hallway, noticing the group of students making for his class. His words echoed in her head. _I swear someone might be following me._ She made a quick scan of the people behind her, reading the faces and body language for anything that might be a threat to the professor, but came up empty. Taking one more survey she slid into the stairway before the door shut.

If she wasn't feeling antsy about her case before she definitely was then. That man happened to be a former KGB cryptographer during world war two, one who was able to broker a deal with the British government to secure a new identify, so for him to be scared of whatever was on that file she had Roman deliver, must be something huge to put fear in those old ice veins. Huge enough for her to hopefully bring her case to and end.

Pulling out her phone, she made her way out to the side exit and saw that her cell had received four new text messages. _Do you know or have any material on ancient dialects? -SH 12:34pm_

Rolling her eyes she opened the next one, _Where are you? -SH 1:16pm_

She deleted that one since there was no point in answering that question. _I need my profiler. Meet me back at the investment bank. -SH 1:23pm _She scowled at how he thought she was his possession. Did she look like John!? She then selected the last one, _Have a lead. Meet me at china town. Come if you want your item back. -SH 1:58pm_

Figuring she may as well since there was nothing else she could do at the moment—plus she could use the distraction—she sent him a quick reply. _On my way. P.s. What do you know of Hang Zhou? -OL 2:17pm_

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_And that's all folks...at least for now. I've got class tomorrow and one is creative writing! O.O I read the online syllabus and OMG on of my assignments is to write a lovemaking scene lol :D God i love college sometime :)_


	8. BB:A lucky cat indeed

_This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A__nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

___**Midnight Angel414: **I'm the same way when i read your stories. And I'm having fun in that class, hope you like your's too :D__  
_

___**88dragon06: **__He is so totally dazed, he's just good at not showing it :) The need what i get power has a lot to do with something in her child hood that will one day be reveal so keep a look out :D Ps i wish i had that power to :) The thing that has him worried will be revealed after a few made up cases._

_________________**Bored441:** Love camping, haven't been in years. Glad you liked the twist :D_

**Larissa Loyd: **_I'm glad you thing he's in character. your review cut off some parts but i think i got what you were saying. Sorry it wasn't what you were looking for but thanks for review anyways :)_

**Chaosrachel: **_Thank you thank you, I'm happy you stumbled across it as well._

**Auadin: **_Interesting handle. Thanks, i try not to god mode my characters, it makes for story boring story if that happens. She has a lot of flaws that will start to become increasingly apparent hopefully keeping her at the right amount :D_

**_Thanks all my awesome reviewers and viewers, I've almost reached 4,000 views! (i know it doesn't seem like much but it is to me so thanks :D)_**

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The cab door slammed shut behind Ollie and drove off; leaving her standing near a red double decker bus lay idle by the side walk. Now back in her earlier clothing—she'd since ditched the bag back with a homeless woman after she left the College—she pulled her coat around her body a bit tighter as the wind nipped at her heels. Walking around she peered above pedestrians, looking for a familiar flop of dark curly hair in the crowds that lined the little shops on either side of the street. She frowned when her scan came up empty, not that it surprised her since she had to fight with her hair as it kept whipping into her eye line. Darn wind. Where was a practical scrunchie when she needed it. "Ollie?"

Spinning around to respond, her blonde hair whacked her once more in the face—a particularly long strand hung from out of her mouth. Letting out an aggravated sound she combed it out of the way. However she stopped when she realized it was John and Sherlock calling for her attention. They both gave her an odd look.

She cocked an eyebrow, "Hey guys. So China town?"

John licked the top of his lip before shaking himself out of what ever thought process had stolen his focus. He cleared his throat, "Um, yes. The uh victims both visited this location before they died. That one there."

"Makes sense," She nodded absently as she followed the direction to which John had pointed to. Revealing a little red nicknack shop called The Lucky Cat. Ollie smiled, _Intriguing_. "Does it," Sherlock spoke up. She flicked over her attentions to the consultant noticing his usual analytical scrutiny. It was as clear to him as it was to her what could possibly connected these two men but, right now it was just a theory. He just wanted her to prove that she knew. To gauge her level of ability. And she was ninety-three percent sure of what the decedents were involved in.

It was obvious that they were both caught up, in some way or form, with a crime syndicate originating from China. Too many coincidences for them not to be. Van Coon dealt with the Chinese market. His luggage was indented where something should have been yet he didn't unpack the rest of his stuff. Odd for someone with such a well organized apartment. So maybe he bought something? Well, there wasn't anything new added to his place, she could still see the accumulation of dust around all his possessions. So where did the item go? Not with the killer that's for sure, or he wouldn't have bothered Brian Lukis. Now the freelance journalist that wrote mainly of China had something in his apartment that she had noted. In his living room underneath a pile of books lay a luggage bag, the tag on the handle stated he'd just arrived from China a few days ago. So adding up all those '_coincidences_' with the profile of the killer led her to the conclusion that they were smuggling. After all both were not the type to be able to stomach murder. Ollie shrugged leading the group across the street, "Of course. I assume you noticed the similarities as well."

"Obviously."

"Did you look into Hang Zhou?"

"Yes. But how did _you_ put that together," Sherlock inquired. His question sounded rude, but Ollie knew it wasn't intended to be. Just his general need to know. "You have people you got to for advice and I have people I go to for advice," she coyly answered skirting around the whole story, "Mine are just better."

She watched the corner of Sherlocks mouth twitch upward, noting the amusement and filed it away for future contemplation. John let out an aggravated noise, "Okay, what are you two going on about. What similarities?"

Instead of receiving an answer from Sherlock and Ollie, they walked off, into the Lucky Cat, the door chiming their arrival. "Fine, ignoring me," he mutter to himself. "Talking to oneself is the first sign of insanity John," Ollie informed as she leaned over a small lucky cat on a table, bopping it's paw to make it wave. He stiffened not realizing she'd heard him. Looking away from her he noticed the little old Asian woman operating the store from behind the counter, he politely smiled to her, "Hello."

The woman looked a bit surprised that there were customers in the shop. Not very shocking considering the thick layer of dust accumulating upon all the merchandise and shelving. _It doesn't appear as if anythings been bought in a while, _Ollie observed while moving towards the miniature statuettes of Buddha. She shot a look over to the owner who appeared thoughtful, assessing their intentions. _The fact that she's still open in this economy says she's making income somehow, yet she doesn't really appear to sell much of anything. So the store must be a front. But for what, _Ollie John bend over for a closer look at the teapots the woman suddenly picked up a golden cat, "You want Lucky Cat?"

"Er...No thanks. No," John politely refused looking back down at the teapots. Ollie furrowed her eyebrow together looking up at the exchange. _Odd. Why would she offer that particular item when he was looking at the teapots. It would have made more sense to state the prices for the pots and talk them up a bit, _She mused watching the woman's mannerisms. The shop keeper persisted holding the cat up, "Ten pound. Ten pound."

John smiled uncomfortably moving over to the tea cups in the middle of the room. He shook his head, "No. No."

She held out the cat trying to emphasize some importance about it. She shot a look over to Ollie and gestured to her, "I think you wife, she will like."

Again he politely refused. But Ollie noted her demeanor. Something about the cat had to do with the smuggling. A way of communicating maybe? Before the woman had time to think they were just curious window shoppers who happened to stumble in, Ollie floated over to the counter, placing a hand upon it. "No, I think she'll love it," she smiled. The woman nodded, "You have money."

Ollie was vaguely aware that John had found something behind her motioning Sherlock over as she pulled money out of her bra. She put ten pounds on the counter but the woman looked up at her confused and expectant. _So ten pounds is code for a different price, _Ollie noted. She started slowly placing bills on top of the other when the owner's facial muscle around the eyes contracted. She stopped adding to the pile having apparently reached the correct amount. All it took was five hundred pounds. At this rate Ollie was gonna run out of her emergency fund. The consulting detective was becoming expensive.

The door rang behind her signaling the departure of her companions. Quickly grabbing the cat she went after them. The woman happily waved her off, "Thank you, come again."

"Yep," she shouted back while rushing out the door and into the street. Turning to her left she spotted Sherlock and John standing by a vegetable stand, pawing at the bok choi, having a lively chat. The owner however didn't appear happy though. _I guess they found something, _Ollie assessed as she caught up, cat in hand. Sherlock picked up a price tag from the wooden container as he tried to restrain a smile of excitement, "And the blindfold. The horizontal line. It's a number as well. It's the Chinese number One, John!"

The doctor grinned back, "We found it!"

Without missing a beat Sherlock noticed the cat in Ollies hand as he strode past her. He didn't need to say anything for her to know that he thought her purchase to be stupid waste. Not that she cared. If her intuition paid off she could just rub it in his face. After all she didn't buy the thing because of some female whimsy.

Seeing that he was entering the cafe across from the Lucky Cat her stomach let out a low growl reminding her of the missed grocery shopping. Another thing still on her mental to do list. Walking into the establishment the door chimed behind her bringing the to attention. All those who were locals eyed the cat apprehensively. _They know what this is then, _she mused. If they knew what it was then they most than likely knew what went on in the Lucky Cat, though getting them to talk would be pointless. These types of communities tended to be closeknit and tightlipped. So if they talked to law enforcement, or anyone else for that matter, someone would know and bring that information to what ever enforcers the crime syndicate had wandering around. Fear kept them quite. Dead men don't talk as the saying goes.

Ollie walked up to the counter to order food all the while every eye in the room, save Sherlock and John, followed her every move. The cashier eyed her with veiled disdain. It was obvious that the girl didn't agree with what ever went on in the area by the tightness in which she smiled. Factoring her age and education into the equation Ollie surmised it must be very hard for the girl not to be vocal about it. Especially since the mother hovered close by, ready to swoop in should she speak out of turn. Ollies theory about organized crime rose to ninety-nine percent. She briefly gazed at the menu on the counter before ordering, "Hi, could I get the number two special."

"Would you like a drink with that," the girl asked robotically having said this many times before. Seeing as the drinks were bottled Ollie nodded, "Sure. I'll have a Sprite."

The girl unconsciously bared her teeth when she smiled before went to retrieve the refreshment from the mini fridge. The mother, sensing that her daughter was about to say what was on her mind, grabbed the drink out of her hands and handed it to Ollie. The woman pushed some buttons on the register, speaking with broken English, "It only £4.57. Give nice lady discount."

Handing over the last of her cash she smiled, "Well thank you. I appreciate it. I'll just be waiting over by the window."

Quickly retreating away from the hostility she walked over to the table where Sherlock had set himself up. Pulling out the chair across from him she went to sit when a long leg pulled it in with a foot. She frowned but brushed the action off, guessing that that particular seat was reserved for John. Which left her the seat in the middle of the two, leaving her back open to the kitchen and venerable. She moved for it when he pulled it away as well. Ollie scowled, "Ok, now that's just being childish. Give me the chair."

She grabbed at it again only to miss it once more. Sherlock stared out the window but watched her through the reflection. Even though his mouth was covered by the hand, his face was leaning upon it, she had a feeling he was probably smirking underneath. "Ten year old," she retorted as she grabbed a seat at the empty table next to him, plopping the cat down in front of her. She stuck out her tongue just as John walked over. "Now, now, am I gonna have to separate you two," he teased as he sat in the reserved chair. He spotted the cat as he was about to fill her in on the break through, "You bought the cat?"

She shrugged while running her fingers over the paint examining it, "Following a hunch. Pretend I'm not here."

"Alright," he said turning his attention to Sherlock who was scribbling on a napkin. John pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, making his own notes, "So. Two men travel back from China. Both head straight to the Lucky Cat Emporium. What did they see?"

Sherlock stared out the window placing his notes into his inner coat pocket, "It's not what they saw. It's what they brought back in those suitcases."

"You don't mean duty free," John realized following along. They both halted the conversation as the waitress approached with his order, sliding it across the table. She stopped as she walked past Ollie before placing the plate down a bit harder than necessary. Ollie looked up from the cat to the plate. Examining her food she came to a sudden gross realization before tentatively turning to John, "Hey John, do you want my food?"

"What, why? Are you not hungry," he eyed the pasta as if he'd never eaten in his life. She shook her head, "No. It's just there's spit in mine, that's all."

His face immediately scrunched in disgust, "That's disgusting. Why would you even offer that to someone."

Her brows furrowed in confusion not understand his reaction. There were few things Ollie didn't understand, social no-no's being one. Don't get her wrong she knows what drives people to kill and the life experiences that lead them there, but when it comes to certain social norms she's clueless. She knows how to manipulate people, she knows how to read them, she can profile them, but she never could quite understand the why people adhere to such strange unwritten rules. She was lucky when she still lived in America, she had had Monroe to explained things for her. And just like that a memory suddenly resurfaced, _Ollie stared curiously from a bench at a group of people_—_friends_—_as they laughed boisterously in a pub. Why would people go out to do something that they could do at home, she didn't understand the appeal or the reason and yet...she envied them. She didn't know why, but she did. A dark figure plopped down on the bench next to her. She briefly glanced over. Monroe sat wrapped in his thick navy blue winter jacket, his nose colored a beautiful rosy pink. He leaned closer to her looking where she had been earlier, "You know you could always join them, have a brew, make some friends."_

_ She sighed defeatedly, "I tried that once, but my social inadequacies were made terribly apparent. I'm just not cut out...I mean I'm not...I'm not right. I can't connect with others. I'm just good at faking it." _

_ An arm suddenly wrapped around her shoulders pulling her into a warm chest, the ochery scent of pine filled her senses. She stiffened at the contact but made no attempt to move, "What are you doing?"_

_ "It's called comfort. I'm trying to comfort you," he said as he awkwardly patted her shoulder. She frowned at the action, "Why?"_

_ "Because we're friends," he smiled. She raised an eyebrow. He was doing that thing again with his mouth, where his smile was just a little to toothy_—_he only ever does that when he's trying not to upset someone by holding something back. Noticing his partner's skepticism he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, "Alright, it's not just that. I know that officer Ryans got to you today," Ollie went to protest but Monroe silenced her, "Don't try and deny it. I saw that kicked puppy look you got when you thought no one was looking. And he's wrong. You're not a monster Ollie. You're just different and people can have a hard time understanding that what you may say wasn't intended to be cruel. You just have to be more careful about timing is all and the social impact of your words."_

_ She pursed her lips to the side in thought, "But how will I know?"_

_ He gave her a semi-amused look as for once, he was the one with all the answers, "Well for one, don't ask the victims family why they care if their relative suffered or not because it wouldn't really matter since they're dead. That my big brained friend is called social suicide and can be insensitive no matter how innocent a question you might think it is."_

_ "Well Monroe, you are a man of many uses," she patted his knee, "From now on I shall be using your expertise and experience. Whenever I'm about to or committing social suicide please stop me and explain why. I'll never learn if you don't."_

Ollies remembered those times fondly. Back then they'd only been living together for a month or two and yet he made such a big part impact on her 'd have...she paused with a shaky intake of air—she tried to banish the chemical responses known as emotions. They had no place in her life at that moment. She returned her attention to John. Maybe he could help her figure out the _why_ from now on. Maybe if she explained he could shed light on where her collective memory went wrong. "Because you're a guy," she tried to explain, "And from what I've observed most guys I've come across eat disgusting foods. Especially if there's money involved. Oh! Is that the problem. I didn't add incentive. Well, I don't have any cash on me now but I do have some at home if that helps."

Her answer was written all over his face. "No, just no. You're probably just imagining it any ways. People just don't do that sort of thing nowadays," he said as he started cutting up the sausage on his plate. She pouted pushing her food to the other side of the table. He sighed rolling his eyes, "Here, I'll share."

Taking a second glance at his food she frowned, "Why? Yours has spit on it too."

He immediately dropped the fork and knife onto the plate with a clatter. "Bloody hell! Sherlock, they spit in my food. Sherlock," he looked over to his friend for vindication only to see he was deep in his own thoughts, "….and you're not even listening. Of course."

It was at that moment the consulting detective came out of his reverie returning his attention to his partner. The man started where he left off, not realizing that anyone had spoken to him not five seconds ago, "Think about what Sebastian told us. About Van Coon. About how he sustained afloat in the market."

"Did you even hear what I said," John asked slightly miffed. Sherlock refrained from rolling his eyes and scoffed, "If you don't like it then don't eat it. Now stop fooling around John this is serious. I need you're full attention. Think."

John looked like he was trying to abstain from hitting his flatmate, a normal occurrence she observed. He took a calming breath to clear his thoughts before answering, "Lost five million…"

"Made it back a week later. That's how he made such easy money," Sherlock stated as he turned to observe the outside. He watched the pedestrians with calculating eyes as if trying to perceive a clue or hidden threat. John, who was getting back into the swing of things and abandoning his food, finally caught up to the theories that both consultants hadn't bothered to voice yet, "He was a smuggler."

Sherlock stared at the emporium, visualizing the day the two men visited there, "Think about it, he would have been perfect. Businessman, making frequent trips to Asia. Lukis was the same, a journalist, writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff out and the Lucky Cat was their drop off."

"Why did they die? It doesn't make sense…If they both turned up at the shop and delivered the goods…why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event? After they'd finished the job," John asked unsure of the motive. Sherlock leaned back into his chair in silence, thinking over the question carefully. He briefly gazed at Ollie. Noticing his thinking face she wiggled her fingers in the air trying to suggest that maybe one of the victims stole something. Sherlock heard her unspoken suggestion, getting the reference. His mouth turned in a slight cocky smile, the one he got when he was closer to unraveling a mystery. "What if one of them was light fingered," he spoke out loud. "How d'you mean," John asked. "One of them stole something. Something from the hoard," he eagerly answered turning back to the window. John looked up excitedly from his notes, "The killer doesn't know which one of them took it! So he threatens them both."

He waited for Sherlock to agree but he was to busy examining the sky and the buildings across the street, "Remind me: when was the last time it rained?"

Ollie immediately stopped scrutinizing the bottom of the cat, popping up from her task to respond, "Last Monday Seven thirty-four AM. Stopped at five forty-one PM."

John froze furrowing his eyebrows, "That's a bit specific. How did you come up with those numbers?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as Ollies abilities were old news to him and thus no longer important at the moment. What was important to him was the telephone book across the street. His chair screeched loudly as he pushed it out of his way, "Olivia has a superior autobiographical memory we went over this already."

John snapped his head up to his roommate, "No we didn't. This is the first I'm hearing of it."

"We talked about it this morning John. You should pay attention," Sherlock scoffed as he exited the establishment. John called after him, "I was at a job interview this morning!"

The other patrons stared at his outburst. He noticed and uncomfortably coughed into his hand giving them an apologetic smile. Ollie tried to hold back her amusement at the two mens bickering. No wonder people got the wrong idea about them, they argued like a married couple at times. He turned his attention to his odd female friend as she went back to pulling at something on the bottom of the cat, "So you have a superior autobiographical memory?"

She looked up but didn't stop prying at the cat, "Yeah. Do you know what that is?"

"Hello, Doctor. Yes, I know what it is," he smiled, "it must be neat to remember everything. You never have to worry about forgetting your keys or stuff like that."

She shrugged, "Mmm, I suppose so. It does comes in handy what with working in the criminal justice system. But it has it's drawbacks."

He pushed the door open holding it out for her. She tried not to smile at the amusing gentlemanly gesture and accepted his offer. Following behind her, as she sniffed the cat then pulled at it once more, he watched his neighbor. Her strange behavior made a bit more sense to him, "I would imagine. You being a criminal profiler, I'm sure there's stuff even you'd like to forget."

A brief look of grief and deep sorrow took hold of her as she stopped fidgeting with her purchase. Her eyes appearing much older than they were. But as quickly as it was there it just as quickly vanished as she resumed her ministrations once more, walking towards the stoop Sherlock had wandered to. John momentarily wondered what she had been thinking, the medical man in him wanted to comfort her, but the voice of reason told him she was to much like Sherlock to open up and except the offer, so he settled on doing nothing for the time being. He'd wait till the right moment to make sure everything was okay.

Sherlock stepped up to the white door of the apartment located above the lucky cat. He dropped down thumbing the opening in the plastic taking note of the wet pages of the yellow phone directory leaning against the door. "It's been here since Monday," he reiterated for himself. Ollie quickly scanned it before going back to messing around with the lucky cat at hand, noting that—she glanced at the name above the doorbell—Soo Lin Yao hadn't been home for the past three days. Sherlock buzzed it for confirmation, which he received when no one responded. His mind racing with ideas as he peered to the side and made for the back alley next to the building. John and Ollie trailed after him. "No ones been in that flat for at least three days," he stated as he turned his curly head upwards to the roof. "They could have gone on holiday," John reasoned as Sherlock stopped underneath the hanging fire escape. "Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday," the consultant shot back calculating how to grab the ladder. Ollie observed the action and handed the cat over to John, "Here hold this."

Before anyone had anything to say anything she leapt up with the acrobatics of a cat burglar catching the bottom bar and hoisting herself through another bar sliding over it onto the other side, her weight bringing it down with a rusty hiss. Both men appeared surprised by the action. She glided down the railings, holding it out for Sherlock, and chuckled lightly at his questioning scrutiny, "Oh Sherlock I used to do a lot of things before I was a profiler. You'd be amazed at the skill set I've acquired over the years. Now hurry before anyone sees."

He quirked an eyebrow at '_skill set_' compartmentalizing the data for later inquiry. Right now he had the flat above to examine. Brushing past her he made his way up the steps, not caring when they went to resume their original position. As they hissed back up John yelled his name before turning to Ollie, "Why'd you let go?!"

She waited till Sherlock stepped through the window before grabbing the cat back from the army doctor, "Because now we go through the front door so if this goes south we can fein innocence saying we assumed he was the owner when we entered and he can get carted off. It'll be his finger prints all over the window and stairs since I'm wearing gloves. I didn't think you'd want more trouble since the ASBO."

"How did you know-," She interrupted him before he could go further, "You were left with a bag of spray paint and two pissed community support officers. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. Now come on."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about annoying-know-it-all-consultants, when Ollie broke a panel on the bottom of the cheap porcelain cat. Looking inside her eyes widened. John curiously walked over, "What is it?"

She pulled out a little plastic bag filled with a white substance, "I believe they're smuggling more than just antiques. Now I understand the locals animosity towards me and why the woman wanted five hundred pounds, they're selling drugs. No wonder that place is still afloat in this economic structure."

"Don't just wave it around in the open, throw it away," John hissed eyeing the street behind her worriedly. She shook her head stuffing it into her coat. "Can't, it's evidence. Now let's go show this to Sherlock," She stated as she made her way back to the front. He caught up to her, eyes drifting back to her coat every few seconds. It was apparent to her that the drugs made him nervous, but he wasn't a recovering addict so she just figured it had to do with his hard wired moral coding. He ran over to the door bell and proceeded to press it, "You think maybe you could let us in this time?"

Silence. John impatiently tapped his foot listening for the sound of descending foot steps. Ollie sent him a reassuring smile which he returned. Another few seconds ticked by and he scoffed, "Oh for heaven's sakes," he pulled open the mail slot, "Can you not keep doing this, please?"

A loud muffle of words came from upstairs and the two strained to hear. "What," John shouted into the slot. More muffled sentences were heard, but nothing was clear. After a few moments it stopped. "What is he saying," Ollie asked. John looked back at her, "I have no idea," He turned back to the slot, yelling up once again, "What are you saying?"

Again there was a bunch of muffling but nothing of substance. John dropped the flap to the mail slot and got up, pacing back and fourth. "I'm wasting my breath," he told her. He walks up to the door once more ringing the bell. He waited a generous forty two seconds before calling up again through the mail slot, "Anytime you want to include us, that'd be great!"

He stared at the door agrivatedly before returning to pacing only this time he waved his arms at his sides, his frustration building. It was quite fascinating to watch Ollie would admit, but Sherlock was dragging it out to long. There was no need to keep them waiting so he could figure things out before they entered, just so he could show off. He didn't have to do that for them. John frowned, "I'm obviously wasting my breath," he walked over to the slot once more shouting, "I'm Sherlock, and I always work alone because no one else can compete with my massive intellect!"

Ollie just stood there, holding the cat, observing the whole thing with interest, he reminded her of Monroe in a way. She wondered how long it would take before he kicked the door in. He glanced at his watch when Sherlock finally opened the entrance. The male consultant quickly rambled, his voice strangely rough and scratchy, "The milk's out of date. And the washing, it's started to smell. Someone left here in a hurry three days ago."

Johns anger instantly dissipated replaced with curiosity, "Somebody?"

"Soo Lin Yao. We need to find her," he coughed.

"How exactly?"

Sherlock spotted something behind the door and picked it up. An opened envelope. His eyes scanned the back reading something. He held it up before walking away, "We can start with this."

"Y-you've gone all croaky are you getting a cold," John asked concerned for his friend. He coughed as he lead them away, "It's nothing."

Ollie spotted the pink raw flesh peeking out from beneath his scarf. _That's not nothing, _she mentally scoffed. She knew ligature marks when she saw them. He caught her staring so she raised a questioning eyebrow. His eyes shifted to John and then back to her stating, without words, that he didn't want to deal with the man's fussing causing a scene. She made a noise of amusement but decided she'd let him keep his secret, though she'd ask the details once the doctor was out of ear shot. She'd probably wait till then to show him her findings as well.

* * *

_Till next time. Jimminie this is taking me so long :P_


	9. BB:Childhood quandaries

_This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A__nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

**Tibble: **_Here's your next update. And I thank you once again for reviewing :D_

**Chaosrachel: **_Yes! I'm glad you still like it so far. Hope I can keep you reading. :)_

**MadWithABox: **_Yes it's definitely taking longer than I though it would. And we'll absolutely get back to the break in's and banter. Especially when something interesting happens once they finish the case. :D_**_  
_**

**Midnight Angel414: **_Your review made me squee with happiness, then I had to smack myself for squeeing. Saying that she fits into the plot well and it still feels original make me incredibly happy and lets me know I'm doing well. :D And with the drugs I always thought it odd she'd try to sell that one item, then when Soo Lin later said she was a drug runner my mind went dude there could be drugs in the cat!_

**aandm20: **_That's ok, I'm just glad you reviewed. And to the rest of your review I just have to say an enthusiastic...thank you, thank you thank, you thank, you thank, thank you!_

**Bored411: **_Glad you liked the twist! And that you love the story. Sorry I made you cry here the next update. :)_

**RoseOfLannister: **_Thanks for your review! :D_

**88dragon06: **_They so totally did :D I'm happy you enjoyed the food bit, i had alot of funny writing it :D_

Anyway hope you enjoy the chapter. I hope it doesn't feel to boring or dry, I had to get some important things across as they'll come into play later and be very important. Laying the foundation so to speak. Even had a little bit of foreshadowing hidden in this chap.

* * *

It's funny, when most people visit an art museum it's to appreciate the artistry. To gaze at the masters and wonder at their use of color, brush strokes, subject matter and meaning. But anytime Ollie walked onto those marbled floors—the kind every major museum seemed to employ—her eyes searched for something vastly different. As she walked into the room allocated for Chinese antiquities her mind honed in on each item; hidden behind their protective glass casings. She studied each one, factoring in damage, age, and historical significance calculating their market value. It was an odd thing to do, she was aware, but it was an instinctual thing on her part. Something that had been ingrained into her at a young susceptible age.

Ollie offhandedly glanced at John and Sherlock as they questioned a young man named Andy about Soo Lin. The lanky man demurely stood in the middle of the room—hands shoved into the tan pockets of his trousers, a physical indication that he was uncomfortable with the Consulting Detective's scrutiny—he appeared to be in his mid twenties, baby faced and fresh out of college colored with a nerdy disposition. Retracting her attention she bent over to look at a particular piece of tea pottery all the while keeping an ear on the conversation. She heard Sherlock pace around the exhibits, "When was the last time that you saw her?"

"Three days ago. Um, here at the museum. This morning they'd told me she'd resigned. Just like that. Just left her work unfinished," Andy answered honestly. Ollie surmised from the lilt in his voice that he had a romantic inclination towards the missing woman, though it was most likely one sided.

She felt the presence of another's body heat behind her as a large figure loomed near. She stood up checking the reflection to see it was only Sherlock come to assess the pots as well. Nothing threatening, but then, just for a second, his eyes trapped hers in the reflection of the glass casing. That intense electric blue stare met her hauntingly yellow one. Some unknown force sparked and acred between them. For some reason she found her mouth inexplicably dry, an action she didn't understand. He took in a particular longer intake of air before walking back over to his lead, "What was the last thing she did on her final afternoon?"

She watched as Andy stumbled to find words before looking at the security staff occupying each door. He checked to see if anyone was within earshot before answering, "She was working on a piece from the ming dynasty...um I can show you but we have to hurry before next shift or I'l get in trouble."

"Ollie we're leaving," John called out as they exit the room. She jumped away from the exhibit to catch up with the group on the Egyptian floor. Andy walked over to a door labeled 'Museum Employees Only' swiping his identification card. He took one last look around before nervously leading everyone into an empty grey hallway. He went towards the double doors halfway down, "It's just right over there. Thankfully the room usually goes unused at this time."

He pushed the doors open to the darkened space, feeling the wall to his left for a switch. It took a few moments for the florescent lighting to blink on and illuminate the empty store room full of broken antiquities and statues. Andy made his way to the long grey storage units stacked together on the walls, "She does this demonstration for the tourists, uh a tea ceremony. She'd have packed up her things and just put them here."

He walked up to one of the openings and twirled a handle on the side to open up the unit more, revealing singular shelves full of Chinese artifacts. But that wasn't what Ollie was paying attention to. No, she was examining the same thing Sherlock was. A Greek statue of a naked woman—the sheet that would have covered it pooled around the bottom, onto the floor. A tragic yellow was etched across it's torso in grim warning. Soo Lin Yao would be the next fall.

Ollie surveyed it clocking the paint to be at least three days old since it's chemical smell was still very much prevalent. Which fit into the timeline perfectly. "That'll be a bitch to get out," she murmured under her breath slightly irritated that the killer ruined a perfectly good piece of historical art. Oddly enough—and unbeknownst to most—she had a thing for art, a secret passion that she'd long since tried to abandon. Feeling a heavy stare she swiveled to her left catching Sherlock observing her with avid interest. Damn, her barriers. Immediately she locked down all thoughts putting her walls firmly back up.

A small slow wicked smile worked it's way onto his face sending a rush of emotions across her skin. She tried swallowing only to find her mouth dry once more. The butterflies in her stomach unnerved her, just as much as the excitement, anticipation and dread that appeared with the glint in those electric blues. _This man sees too much, _Ollie internally groaned. Yet, instead of spouting all that he wanted to he was oddly silent, holding back the information with a deep vibrating, "Oh."

John, upon hearing Sherlock's voice, turned around finally noticing the statue with silent surprise. The consulting detective, knowing there was no more information to be gathered at the museum, abruptly left the room. Following him out Ollie couldn't help but notice the artifacts laying unattended. A little compulsive part of her brain wanted to see how many things she could lift from the chamber before anyone noticed, she did not obey that thought. Though her hands itched to—as a precaution she shoved them into her pockets away from temptation and Sherlocks ever observant eye. It was funny what time did to people. Ten years ago she would've had no problem nicking something as she passed, of course ten years ago she was totally different—that person a stranger to her now. And she'd promised someone long ago to never be that person again. A promise she so far had kept.

John caught up to her just as she pushed through the door leading back to the Egyptian displays. Both of them trying to pick up the pace to match Sherlocks faster strides as he weaved in and out of rooms. The crowds were thinning now—not that there were many people to begin with—since it was autumn so night came earlier. Though she supposed people left for home around that time because they thought it was safer during the day, a wrong assumption. Granted less crime, though not by much, occurred during the daylight hours but crime still happened—people still died.

Sherlock burst through the front entrance onto the front steps outside with urgency, "We have to get to Soo Lin Yao."

"If she's still alive," John reminded grimly. Ollie shook her head, "She is, else we'd have found the body by now. The killer isn't preoccupied with hiding the corpses."

"Sherlock," a voice behind the trio shouted. They stopped to see Raz running towards them, flagging the group down. "Well, look who it is," John scoffed still clearly upset with his ASBO. "I've found something you'll like," the graffiti artist said slightly out of breath. He smiled before walking off, the others trailed after.

* * *

The Hungerford Bridge was alight with bustling nightlife as the pedestrians hurried across to find warmer accommodations than outside. John shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders squared and tight, "Tuesday morning. All you've got to do is turn up and say the bag was yours."

Raz ignored him as Sherlock took a deep sigh, letting it out—slightly agitated that John was having trouble getting over a simple misunderstanding that was of his own making. It was his own fault for not running. "Can we forget about your court date," he scoffed. After all, there was another piece of his puzzle about to be revealed and he couldn't be bothered with the shorter man's frustrations. Ollie could practically hear John punching him in his mind.

She tried to suppress the smile she got watching their interactions, they were quite the amusing pair. Her smile, however, fell when she halted as something processed through her brain. A face cropping up, twice in one day, being the problem. In a large city like London the odds of seeing the same strangers face twice in one day were slim unless you were a commuter on the tube. The fact she'd seen the same Asian woman since Chinatown, two times, meant they were being followed. Had recent circumstances not left her so hyper-vigilant she probably wouldn't have noticed till the fifth or sixth time the woman got within her sight. The woman wasn't even very good at it either, she was wearing dark sunglasses at night. Not something a person would do unless they were worried about being identified on CCTV. Like someone that might be on Interpol's radar. Someone possibly from a crime syndicate.

Ollie spun around quickly. Ready to apprehend the tail only to find that she was no longer there. With speedy calculation there were only a few different scenarios in which she could have disappeared without notice. But one seemed more likely than others as a word came to mind. _Acrobatic_. Quickly, she ran to the railings, leaning over the edge just in time to spot a quick flash of black fabric vanish beneath the metal scaffolding. Before she could give chase however, Sherlock shouted back at her with a demanding tone, "Olivia!"

She looked back and forth between the two predicaments. Reason stated that the tail would be back but her instincts wanted to race after her. So forcing herself she chose to deal with the woman later. Instead she would catch up to Sherlock and the gang and head towards the skatepark on the South embankment underneath an overpass. The most apparent aspect was the graffiti art plastered over every bit of concrete, from the walls to the pillars, each from a different artist. Young adults did tricks across railings and half pipes saying a few outdated skater terms that she had thought went out of style a while ago. _Do people still say rad, _Ollie wondered to herself.

_ "_If you wanted to hide a tree then the forest is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say? People would just walk past it, not knowing. Not able to decipher the message," Sherlock mused. They walked down a staircase as Raz pointed over to a wall, a huge tag painted over another image—remnants of yellow paint showing through, "There. I spotted it earlier."

"And that's the exact same paint," Sherlock asked the graffiti artist. He nodded, "Yeah."

"John, if we're to decipher this code we're gonna need to look for more evidence," the consultant detective scowled slightly. Raz took a sideways glance at the army Doctor before he started to quietly back away, clearly not wanting to get into a confrontation with the man. After all, John wasn't about to let the ASBO go. "And how do we that? Raz did you see an...," he trailed of noticing the artist had disappeared. He threw his hands into the air with a frustrated sound, "Of course he sneaks off. Listen Sherlock, I'm serious about that ASBO. He better show up."

"John, your time would be better spent looking for clues rather than worrying about pointless topics. We'll split up. Start by searching the railway," Sherlock announced walking towards an opening in the chain link fence near by as he pulled out a flash light. John got a bit red in the face at his friends nonchalant attitude, ducking in after him, "Pointless! Sherlock it'll go on my record! My record! It effects my employability!"

"You have a job. I hadn't realized you were planning on quitting so soon after getting hired," Sherlock stated as he walked towards an empty train car parked on an unused rail. John pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back a nasty retort, "You know what, I'm not getting into this with you. I'll start with that direction and call if I find anything."

Muttering under his breath he stalked away, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. Ollie turned down the track after him figuring he held the best possibility in maintaining her mystery and enjoy the case. But Sherlock must have seen that thought as a hand clamped down on her wrist, pulling her towards the other direction. She looked down at the vice grip with slight annoyance, "I see that arguing would be useless."

That smug quirk of his lips told her that she was right. "How perceptive of you," he stated dryly, "But incase you run just know I have a pair of police issue handcuffs I have no qualms with using."

She snorted wrenching her arm back, "Funny."

"It wasn't a joke."

She started walking down the tracks examining each crevice and crack, "Oh, I know. I just find it amusing that you assume I can't escape from a simple pair of cuffs."

She paused in her search realizing her mistake to late. Damn. Her ego always got her into trouble, making her want to needlessly flaunt her skills and show off. People had no idea how hard the past months had been for her. She was always excited to show case her skills so it was hard not to want to do so with the consulting detective. Especially since she considered him an equal in many aspects—though she'd never to admit it.

"Pickpocket or burglar?"

"What about them," She asked calmly as she looked into a dark empty train car. Nothing of interest inside. It'd been out of use for a while as dust blanketed the seats but it had yet to be vandalize by the wayward youth so it hadn't been there to long. So there'd be no graffiti. "You know exactly what I'm asking. I did my research. Orphaned at eleven. Ran from the system, chose to live on the streets. Caught by officers several times and was reported to be in good health and well clothed each time-," Sherlock stopped as Ollie cut him off, "I don't see how that has to do with the case."

He gave her an pointed look that spoke volumes on what he thought of her IQ at that moment. "Don't pretend to be of lower intelligence. It insults both of us. This morning you grabbed the ladder with acrobatic expertise but you're not a gymnast. You're excellent at reading nonverbal cues, something necessary to identify easy marks. At the art museum you were eyeing the pieces as if assessing their value. But why a pickpocket or a Burglar. Because you were well fed in an area riddled in poverty yet you were never caught in an area near any shelters of food kitchens. So which is it," he demanded with quiet force. She recoiled slightly as he forced his way into her personal space, stopping her from moving away. She was feeling defensive, but she knew if she were to fight him on the subject he'd only get worse. I'd be easier to give into the question and move on with the case but what he was asking was personal. Something she'd never talk about. Her only solution would be intimidation by using leverage. But what would he not want her to reveal, to talk about. She delved deep into her memories adding up all his actions, conversations, and personality coming to a conclusion. One about his own youth. "Sherlock there are somethings from my childhood I don't talk about. I'm sure there are things you'd rather not have people privy to as well. So you stay out of my mine and I'll stay out of yours since it has nothing to do with this secret you believe I have."

He stared at her long and hard. Assessing wether she had or could figure out anything about his past. He calculated the information he'd gathered about her verses the data he'd personally acquired. What ever answer he reached was shoved to the side when his eyes landed once more onto the cat from earlier, "Such a useless purchase."

All prior tension gone, Ollie smiled smugly as they continuing the search. She held the item up, "I wouldn't necessarily say that. While you confirmed the code was Hang Zhou I confirmed my suspicions about the establishment. Would you like to know what a little cat told me?"

He gazed down at her waiting for the response. She held the cat in one hand and rummaged through her coat pocket with the other, pulling out the little packet. But as Ollie did so she immediately realized her mistake the minute she noticed his pupils dilate and the slight tremor overtake his hand. She shoved it back into her jacket just in time as he reached for it. His hand froze in its spot before he retracted it, hiding it from view. She suddenly knew the reason for John earlier behavior, he must have known of his roommates previous addiction and didn't wish to re-hash old wounds. So she kept her hand on the item to deter against any temptation on his part. "Sorry. I hadn't realized," she apologized putting herself out of arms distance.

"Stick to the case Miss Knight," he coldly stated stalking away from her, putting up his own barriers. This round going to her, though she wasn't sure wether to be happy or not. Were she a normal person she would worry about the silence that they had fallen into as they investigated the area, wandering towards a train repair structure. But she could go days without speaking a single word to anyone and be perfectly content just enjoying ones company without any conversing involved. Though their silence had more to do with focusing on the case, already having moved past the earlier unintentional revelations.

Sherlock's hurried pace caught her attention as she approached him picking up a spray can. He put the flashlight into his mouth so he could use the free hand to examine the paint on the nozzle. He sniffed the can confirming it to be of the same brand. "There's an underpass nearby, lots of foot traffic, plenty of graffiti, a good place to possibly leave a message," Ollie offered in suggestion. He rose to full height advancing in the direction she had suggested, already calculating the best route as he had already thought of the same idea. He just hadn't felt the need to voice it.

Jumping over fences, running through back alleys and past several construction areas they came to the underpass just as it started to rain. The walls were covered in artist tags written over various posters advertising all sorts of services, messages, and events. None were of the ancient dialect they sought.

Sherlock shone his light, scanning all the posters till he stopped on one. He ripped the bottom portion off containing the information on dates and location. Ollie gazed at the poster as Sherlock jogged off. A Chinese circus. One night only. She study it for a few moments before her brain caught up, "Oh."

* * *

The consultants had circled back once more to the train tracks right as the rain stopped. Having only found a couple more empty spray cans near the chain linked fence surrounding the area they hadn't paid much attention to anything other than searching for the illustrious yellow paint—though Ollie would catch Sherlock examining her every now and again when he thought she wasn't looking—so it came to no surprise to her when John came rushing over out of breath with news. "Answer your phones, I've been calling you!"

John smiled triumphantly, "I found it."

He motioned for them to follow and started racing off towards the direction he had come from. The two consultants eagerly pursued. Running down the dark empty tracks as John lead them to the back of a small maintenance building by the rails. He stopped, illuminating the black brick wall with his flashlight. His face suddenly scrunched in confusion, "It's been painted over."

Sherlock spun around, immediately probing the area for a culprit, in the chance they were still lingered in the region. John deflated, "I don't understand. It-it was...here. Ten minutes ago...I saw it," he spoke backing away from the wall upset, "A whole load of graffiti."

"Somebody doesn't want me to see it," Sherlock mused glaring into the darkness. _Well there goes that lead,_ Ollie frowned thinking of what to do next while glancing at the army doctor. She could try a memory technique she learned from her time at the FBI on him but she would need some paper to write down the numbers as he wouldn't be able to accurately describe them. Sherlock abrupt ran over to John however, grabbing his face with both hands. For a brief second both John and Ollie thought he was about to kiss the man. He squinted his eyes, "Sherlock what are you-."

"Shh! John concentrate. I need you to concentrate and shut your eyes."

"What? Why, what are you doing," he asked, his voice cracking just a tad. Sherlock stepped back a bit sliding his hands to John's shoulders, spinning them both around, "I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to think back to what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Sure, yeah."

"You remember it?"

"Yes, definitely," John nodded trying to keep his head as far from the other ones as much as humanly possible. Sherlock stared at him like he were talking to a child, "You remember the pattern?"

"Yes."

"How much can you remember it?"

"Well look, don't worry!"

"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two per cent accurate."

"Yeah well don't worry I'll remember all of it."

"Really," he asked skeptically. John wrenched himself out of the other man's grip slightly agitated, "I would if I could get to my pockets. I took a photograph."

He pulled out his phone slightly out of breath from the spinning, showing it to his roommate. Ollie walked up to peer down at the screen as well. The symbols that had been covered up now plain to see. She stole a glance at Sherlock noticing he was a little flustered that he hadn't deduced John would have the presence of mind to take a picture before running off to find them. It was after all the technological age. She heard John chuckle lightly as he walked off with a little pep in his step, having one upped the detective.

She smiled as she shoved her hands into her pockets to warm them, looking up at the night sky in thought. Something about the museum had caught her eye. Something important but she didn't know how yet. She needed to go back. Now. She turned to find Sherlock once again watching her. She raised an eyebrow in question as something indiscernible flashed behind his eyes. Her gaze wandered to his pale cupid bowed lips as she observed the white puffs of air blow past them with every breath he took. She quickly ripped her attention away from them, "Right anyways. I have an errand to run so I'll meet up with you two later if my presence is still required at that point."

He twitched slightly when she spoke, having interrupted his concentration. He cleared his throat as if to rid himself of some thought process, "Do what ever you like. I don't need you to solve a case. Believe it or not Miss Knight, but I've been doing so long before you tramped along."

John called out from the darkness for them to hurry up, stopping Ollie from any form of retort. Sherlock turned about running after his roommate. His coat billowing behind him as the night swallowed him whole. She frowned, wondering what she could have done to make him emotionally distance himself from her. She didn't think it was the earlier incident but then again most people could hold a grudge. Maybe she had misread the silence. After all, it was then he had started to refer to her as Miss Knight instead of the usual Olivia. A key distancing indicator.

However, she wasn't like most people, and although his cold dismissal did bother her, she wasn't one to let petty feelings dissuade her from her objectives. Well, most of the time. She waited till she could no longer hear the echo of their footsteps before pulling out her own phone. She figured she would go that route seeing as her cover was probably already blown thanks to Sherlocks probing, thankfully she was still flying under the radar in her own investigation though. Plugging in a number she listened to the dial tone, waiting for the line to pick up. A voice introduced it's self into her ear causing her to smile before responding, "Hello and good evening to you as well. I was just wondering, is Creegan Leer still the museum curator? Oh, he is! That's great. Could you get him on the phone please. Just tell him one Ollie Knight is calling. He'll know who that is...no of course I'll hold."

Holding her phone in her mouth she climbed the fence, hands scaling metal links, as the waiting music played. Hefting herself over the top she landed like a cat, on her feet, on the other side in a parking lot. Taking a moment to figure out where she was the music abruptly stopped. She quickly brought the phone back up to her ear, "Ah, yes hello Creegan, how're you today? Oh me? You know the usual, getting into trouble, making friends, getting into trouble. Speaking of which I need to call in my favor. Nothing illegal I promise. Just need to stay at the museum after hours. It's to do with a case yes. No, it has nothing to do with art theft as of yet. Yeah that was a rather exciting day, who knew your art thief would turn out to be on the board of trustees...well, I suppose I did, but I digress. The one I'm on now? Oh, well I promise I'll tell you all about it once it's finished. So will you let me stay? You will, that's great! Tomorrow actually. Alright, I'll see you then."

She hung up the phone with a click. Something about what Andy had said earlier was bugging her. Now she'd figure out why.

* * *

_Author's note/rambling:_

Hope you enjoyed sorry it's taking me so long to finish this case. It's starting to annoy me because I soooooo want to start writing some steamy make out scenes, maybe even a few hot sex ones but a relationship with sherlock doesn't move that fast as he has to come to terms with his attraction. And even then he won't admit it. I have a timeline that makes sense and will work well with his character and mine's personalities. But still it's killing me TT_TT Sorry I just felt the need to vent this. Just know major relationship changes will come about before the great game begins (as there will be made up episodes in between this one and that).


	10. BB:Night at the museum

_This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A__nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

**aandm20: **___I'm glad I'm not the only person who get frustrated with that aspect of fanfiction. Here's some more awkward moments :D  
_

**Bored411: **_____Don't worry she doesn't take it personally as she hasn't fully opened up to Sherlock since she has to remain guarded around him due to his observant eye. Now if John were to snap at her it might hurt her feelings as she naturally finds his presence calming and reassuring, reminding her of Monroe in that aspect. And as for her figuring out Sherlocks might have "feelings" for her and that's why he snapped, well she's pretty clueless. Even after really big in your face observations. She want actually know of his intentions or feelings until they're literally in her face (i.e his lips crashing onto hers, and yes that is foreshadowing...eventually TT_TT)._

**Chaosrachel: **_______Those handcuffs will one day come back into the picture. And as to how...well i'll let you use your imagination for now :D_

**88dragon06: **_________The curator part just seemed right, after all how is it that they were allowed to stay in the museum after hours? Certainly not with Andy's help considering his superiors didn't care that Soo Lin was missing, which is why Ollie made sense. After all she done lots of jobs eventually they're going to intersect in some way with Sherlocks career. I so happy you liked all the other stuff as well. And as for you suggestion I have already figured out where that'll work into the story, but sorry not in this chapter. But soon! I just have to finish the damned blind banker! It's taking so long TT_TT but that's what I get for having her go on side quests._

**NerySierra XP: **_You're update milady *bows*. Sorry no kissing yet TT_TT but something equivalent will happen as soon as the blind banker is over._

___S_orry for any grammar mistakes as I rushed it a bit ( I had to finish it or i'd never get started on my creative writing homework) anywho hope you still enjoy it. Also hope you like the new cover. That's what I imagine Ollie to look like in my head. :D

**FYI there is a poll on my profile page for this fanfic on wether Sherlock should find out Ollies secret before or during the great game.**

* * *

"Fake. Authentic. Wrong dynasty. Authentic. Authentic. Replica. Ah ha!"

Ollie sprung up holding a faberge egg against the light as she stepped away from a wooden crate, examining it with fondness. She hummed a tune quietly to herself as she was in a particular good mood. After all, she'd gotten twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep and not once had Sherlock bothered to break into her place. For what ever reason he was upset with her for, she didn't care, it worked out in the end. Her peace of mind had never been better. She smiled down at the rose cut diamonds adorning the rim of the egg, admiring the opaque white enamel coating the gold, "We meet again."

"Excuse me, but that is a priceless piece from the Vekselberg collection on loan from Moscow. Do you have any idea how valuable that piece is! It's the first ever faberge egg created. The hen's egg, commissioned by Tsar Alexander the third for-"

"His wife Tsarina as a gift for easter. Yes, I know the story. And as for how much it's worth well that depends entirely upon the buyer. But if I had to make an educated guess I'd say on the current US market you could get about four million dollars. On the European market about two and a half million pounds. Now this here," Ollie revealed grabbing a different egg with her left hand, "is a well made fake. Though the gold lacquer is real, the material it's painted on is totally worthless. Watch."

Ollie curled her fingers around the egg with hardly any added pressure causing the specimen to crumble in her hand. The ridged brunette looked on appalled rushing over to the broken bits on the floor freaking out, "Oh my god what did you do! You've destroyed a priceless work of Russian history! Do you even know what they'll do when-," she was cut off with a light slap across the face. The consultant rolled her eyes as she placed the first egg back in it's comfy container, "Sorry but you were getting hysterical. Now use that PhD for something other than a paper weight. Taste the material. The white part mind you. Go on."

The woman stared at her stunned and furious, ready to rip into her but something in the way the consultant held herself halted that action. The blonde before her was poised with a deadly kind of elegance that demanded obedience, her yellow eyes cutting into her very soul. For some odd reason she found herself doing as she was told. Tentatively she touched her tongue to a broken chunk and immediately retracted it, staring at the shard in confusion and disbelief, "It tastes like candy!"

"Of course. It's the signature of a thief known as the Candyman. I know awful name, but I didn't pick it. Mostly likely he snagged it during the transportation of the collection. Probably hid himself as an employee, I'd check the subsidy you hire to transport your antiquities. If you're quick enough you just might catch him before he fences it on the black market," Ollie informed as she poked an Egyptian statue nearby, scrutinizing it. The woman bristled at her candor. She turned to the curator upset, who until then had been just a spectator, "Who exactly is this woman you've brought me?! I don't mean to challenge your judgement but she's not exactly what I expected when you said you'd bring down an expert to look over the collection."

Creegan smiled politely, amusement dancing behind his soft grey eyes, "I assure you doctor Lerner she's more than qualified. She's helped folly many a theft, recover quite a few historical pieces, and revealed an astonishing amount of fakes in her time as a private consultant. And though I admit her methods are unusual I'd trust this woman with the crown jewels if we had them at our facility, so I _think_ we can trust her with authenticating our newest collection. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I need you to go and alert the proper authorities of the theft while I have to make an uncomfortable call to Moscow."

"Fine, but I'll hold you personally responsible for any damages she causes," Miss Lerner huffed as she pointed at the other woman. She gave her one more scathing look before turning in a huff, strutting away from the loading bay. As she disappeared into a corridor Ollie pouted, regarding Creegan with confusion, "Why is she upset? I thought she'd be happy to find out it's a fake before it was put on display to the general public and have to suffer the embarrassment."

The man shook his head chuckling, "I see your colloquial tact hasn't improved since I last clapped eyes on you. Good to know somethings are the same. Though I am a bit surprised that Monroe wasn't accompanying you on this particular endeavor. Usually your attached to the hip. Did you two end up having a row?"

Ollie grew ridged as her face fell. She shifted uncomfortably looking away, "...yeah...something like that."

Creegan tutted patting her shoulder reassuringly, "I'm sure you two will make up in no time. I don't think he's the kind of man to stay mad forever."

Eyes starting to water she quickly blinked it away, recomposing herself with a strained lopsided grin. She couldn't, wouldn't, correct him—inform him of the events that had transpired seven months prior. She couldn't face the pity that would come with the it. Or the questioning and sad looks that would follow. So, she stuffed down the feelings welling up. "You're probably right. Now if you could hand over that all access pass please," Ollie requested wiggling her open hand at him. Creegan rummaged through his tweed jacket pulling out an ID badge, smiling as he handed it over, "Here you are. Now I expect everything to be in tip top shape when I return in the morning. And please leave your findings with Dr. Lerner before you leave."

"Wait, you were actually serious when said I was here to authenticate the collection. I thought that was just a cover story to explain my presence here at night."

The curator chuckled to himself as he waddled off, "It would be inadvisable of me not to take advantage of your skills while I have you here."

Ollie scoffed half heartedly calling after him, "Calculated opportunist!"

"Curious eccentric," he yelled back laughingly. She restrained herself from doing the same and re-covered the crate. After all, she could examine the box later. Right now she'd make her way back to the Chinese floor and work her way from there in search of Andy. Maybe then she could get her answer and move on with life. Since her mind kept returning to one particular item, the teapots. Ollie wondered how many Soo Lin had worked on before she had disappeared. And if it was a smaller number than the one shining in the case, then who'd been taking care of the teapots? The reason she had to ask was because of what Andy had told them about Soo Lin _This morning they'd told me she'd resigned. Just like that. Just left her work unfinished. _And yet she still put the other tea set away. Even after she must have spotted the threat on the statue. Either she was a very calm and collected woman or those tea pots were her life's work, in which case she wouldn't just leave them. Threats be damned.

So Ollie—after checking her phone for any missed messages—wandered around the facility till she once again found herself in the Egyptian room. As she glided over to the Chinese antiquities she spotted her target. When she approached him however she noticed she wasn't the only one ready to ask questions. John and Sherlock had beat her to it. _Beautiful. _

The army Doctor looked up noticing her approach, "Oh, Ollie what are you doing here?"

"Had a few follow up questions for Andy. Though I didn't think I'd see you two here," She shrugged casting a glance to the teapots. The source of her obsession. Her eyes slightly widened as she noticed that there were now two shining in the case. A smug smirk made it's way onto her features, apparently her staying at the museum just might not prove to be a wasted effort.

Sherlock scowled at her presence but she ignored it. After all, Ollie wasn't there for him, she was there for Soo Lin—to stop her from becoming just another set of crime scene photo's in a file. The consulting detective begrudgingly, but curiously, followed her line of view—noticing the glass case. John waited for Sherlock to make a comment about her presence but only heard his silence. Something odd for the man who had something to say about everything. He noticed the far away stare, "What are you looking at?"

"Tell me more about those teapots," Sherlock pointed as he strode over to them. Andy shifted scratching the back of his head, he walked up to the case, watching the pieces with sad nostalgia—most likely lost in a memory of the woman he cared for working dedicatedly on them. He sighed, "Those pots were her obsession. Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you just have to keep making tea in them."

"Yesterday only one of those pots were shining," Sherlock informed leaning down eye level to the objects, "Now there are two."

The other men appeared confused by the information, not understanding the implications. John glossed over the fact, "So. Just means someone been taking care of them. I don't see what this has to do with the Soo Li-"

"Andy has anyone been assigned to take care of them since she resigned," Sherlock interrupted questioning the young man. He shook his head, "No. You have to have a certain degree to work on them, which I don't have. They're still searching for qualifying candidates."

Sherlock sent a smug look to John, "Then who's been taking care of them if not Soo Lin herself?"

"Wait! You think she's still here?"

"Of course. Have you not been paying attention," he returned his scrutiny back to the submissive man, "We'll need to stay after hours if we're to find her."

Andy shook his head meekly, twisting his hands together, "I'm sorry but I don't exactly have that authority. And my superiors aren't really that understanding."

Sherlock growled softly in agitation as very few people denied him. Standing back to full height he began pacing, calculating another way to gain the access he needed. When something started to agitate his thoughts till he could no longer ignore it. Suddenly he turned on Ollie marching up to her, "Why exactly are you here?! I told you I'm more than capable by myself, and thus I no longer require your assistance. So why are you here at the exact time I'm investigating?! You're presence is distracting, you'll have to leave."

Ollie managed to keep calm not rising to his baiting as he bore down into her, nonchalantly shrugging at his accusing tone, "Collecting empirical data."

Agitation and something unknown flash beneath his sharp eyes. Gracefully he bent down, lips close to her ear. "I don't need you," he whispered harshly before he pulled away. Slowly she leaned up. Taking her time as she did. Then, as she exhaled next to his ear, she whispered confidently, "Good. Because I'm not here for _you_."

A shiver worked down his spine as she pulled out of reach. Ollie cocked an eyebrow in challenge to which he just swallowed, his adams apple bobbing up and down. Suddenly John's voice cut through the tension, "Right...so um anyways. Ollie, why do you have an employee badge?"

Sherlock mentally shook himself out of his self created haze and inspected the ID badge clipped onto the lapel of her blue pea coat. _Olivia Knight. Visiting consultant. Level Three Access._ He squinted at the card, upset with himself for not noticing it sooner, then turned his attention onto the smug lilt of her pale lips. "Yeah, see _funny_ thing. I happen to know the curator of this museum. Helped him out a while back with an art theft. So when I asked if I could stay here over night he was pretty happy to accommodate my needs," She spoke sashaying backwards from the men, pluck and satisfaction oozed from her ever pore.

It was at that precise moment Sherlock really took inventory of her, realizing the woman he had been interacting with till then was just a pale copy. Whatever trauma she had endured before had taken more than just a close friend. No, what ever it was had left her hollowed—functioning only at half capacity. And he wondered if she was even aware that. But the one standing before him now? She was a woman who might be capable of besting him. And that fact for some reason sent his mind and pulse racing with anticipation, excited for the possibilities that it would produce, and longing for the stimulus of the challenge. He only hoped she wouldn't revert to her previous incarnation.

But, as he noted her poise, the unruffled swagger, and that mischievous quirk of the mouth Sherlock couldn't help but feel offended that she had masked this self from him. He found it incredibly and insulting rude that she held back. It's why he couldn't stand it when she played dumb. But he could wait to voice his complaint later, as of that moment she had something he needed. Unfortunately he'd have to figure out a way to gain her cooperation after he'd just callously brushed her off. Of course had he not been so preoccupied by her presence and noticed the badge then he wouldn't be in that current predicament.

Johns flexed his jaw uncomfortably at the silence, mentally berating Sherlock for his lack of social grace and his own need to apologize on behalf of the consulting detective welled up. With a sigh he braced himself for damage control, "I'm sorry Ollie. You'll have to forgive him, it's just that the case has gotten to him-"

"The case hasn't '_gotten_' to me."

"Dammit Sherlock! Would you just keep quiet for five seconds I'm trying to fix the situation."

"I'm not a child John. I'm quite capable of doing things for myself. Besides I don't believe she would be so petty as to not allow us access to save another woman's life."

"You obviously don't know women. And in any case you've definitely gone and hurt her feelings and since you're about to ask for a favor the correct thing to do would be apologize and as you not capable of completing such a feat I have-," John abruptly cut off as Ollie stifled a snort. Both men turned to look at her as she waved them off, "Sorry, it's just that in order for him to hurt my feelings I'd have to care about his opinions."

Annoyance briefly flashed across Sherlocks features as John cringed. Immediately realizing they would get that it wasn't meant as a personal jibe she felt the need to speak up and explain, even if it was rather poorly, "Oh don't feel bad. I stopped caring about others opinions long ago. Life's much more bearable that way."

Though admittedly there were a few words that still got to her but she'd never outwardly show it. She frowned as she caught John gazing at her with pity. Ollie cocked her head to the side trying to figure out why he was giving such a look. "Then will you gain us access to the facility," Sherlock inquired emotionlessly. She moved her attention over to him and shrugged, "Well I will..._if_ you give me back what you stole."

She smirked as the consulting detectives eyes widened when he registered the trap he'd walked into. Just a little thing she'd cooked up when he had noticed the second pot. The right leverage can get you almost anything now a days. Weighing his options for a few seconds he begrudgingly conceded, "I left it in the safekeeping of Mrs. Hudson. Ask and she'll hand it over. Now procure my access."

She scowled. How come she hadn't thought to check there?! Damn him. Pulling out her phone she hit redial, tapping her foot impatiently waiting for the line to pick up. "Hey, it's me again. I just need two more passes," she informed.

"Oh good you two made up."

Ollie cast a wary look at the others, checking for eavesdropping. And wouldn't you know it Sherlock was doing just that. Careful picking her next words she returned to the conversation on the phone, "No, sorry. They're for my temporary assistants."

The line paused, "Well, alright but I'm holding you responsible for their actions. I'll leave the IDs at the front desk, just send me their pictures."

"Sure. Thanks again Creegan," she smiled hanging up. Shoving the phone back into her jacket she turned to John, "Hey can I borrow your cell?"

"Uh, sure," he hesitated as he pulled it from his coat, handing it over. Flipping it open she quickly snapped a picture of his face, "Say cheese!"

"What are you-."

Cutting him off she turned to Sherlock, "And for you, there. Aaand Send. Here you go John. Thanks."

Ollie threw the phone back to him which he stumbled to catch. He opened it, checking his recent pictures. He grimaced, "Really? I'm blinking in this."

* * *

The museum lay silent as statues stood vigil, frozen voyeurs to the bleeding night. A lone light, the only beacon in the darkness, strewn naked shadows across all in it's path. The rustling of paper straw was the only reminder of the human life within. Ollie was perched upon the edge of a large wooden crate peering into it, scratching her observations onto the clipboard held on her arm. John sighed for the fifty-ninth time that hour, causing her to pause in her findings, restraining herself from snapping at the man. He sighed once more and she had to stop herself from physically breaking the pen between her fingers—his sighs pounded onto her mind like Chinese water torture. At first it wasn't noticed but soon it had become painful upon the ear.

Sensing he was about to let out another one she immediately slapped her hand over his mouth halting the action. He stared wide eyed from his spot leaning against the shelving behind her. "I'm sorry John, but your bored sighs were getting to me. It was either this or knock you out by smashing this priceless antique over your skull."

Retracting her hand she returned to cataloguing the collection, jotting down authenticity. "Sorry. I hadn't even realized I was doing it. It's just, I don't particularly enjoy waiting around for Sherlock to call," he apologized. Ollie absently nodded her head in agreement as she moved onto the next piece. Oh, she understood perfectly about waiting for a call—instinctively she glanced at the cell given to her by the professor—yeah waiting definitely wasn't her favorite thing either. Especially as of late. For some reason she felt revitalized, newly invigorated by some unknown force—almost as bright and shinning as she once had been. Yet, there was still a shadow, a black inky stain upon her soul. Just as there was now a shadow cascading over her physical being.

Looking up she caught John leaning over her, watching her progress, his face only inches from her own. A slight flush made it's way onto his cheeks as he swallowed uncomfortably. He repositioned himself beside her clearing his throat, ridding himself of what ever feeling their proximity had provoked. "So," he started, "what exactly are you doing?"

She briefly looked up before returning to the clip board, "I'm authenticating the collection before it's viewed by the public. As of right now everything's pretty much as it should be. Well, except for a couple pieces from the wrong dynasty—this is supposed to be the imperial collection, not grama's brickabrack set. Though I did uncovered a fake earlier, the bits from that are all over the floor right there. It's made of candy so if you get hungry feel free to have a lick. Just don't digest the gold part as that's real and'll kill you. Also there is a replica which I suspect is due to untrusting officials-."

Ollie abruptly ceased her nattering realizing most of what she was saying probably held no meaning for the man. That and he was regarding her with an unnerving stillness. She rubbed the nape of her neck, "Um, John, you're staring…"

He shook his head, "What!? Oh, sorry. It's just its amusing to watch you talk so amicably about something."

She rolled her eyes, "Well I'm glad you find my conversation topics amusing. Though I suppose it's better than you finding them dreadfully boring."

"No, no, thats not what I meant. It not a bad thing. It's actually a very cute and endearing quality," he sputtered out trying to explain, assuming she'd taken offense. Ollie pouted, her bottom lip jutting out slightly, "Cute and endearing. Why would you say that?"

"Because you are," he reiterated. But all he got in return was a confused bewildered look out of her. He sighed exasperatedly, "Oh come on, you have to know what you do to a bloke."

"What do I do?"

His mouth fished open as he momentarily lost his voice, "Uh...wha-well you have to have noticed what you've been doing to Sherlock. Though I'm not entirely sure if he's aware of it."

She smiled mischievously, "Yeah, I know I'm annoying him. And he is most definitely aware of it. Did you see his face when I called him an assistant, ha! Priceless."

What? John watched as she chuckled at Sherlock's earlier frustration not understanding how she didn't get what he'd been implying. Were his sentences being lost in translation or something? He was being pretty clear. Staring at the grown woman before him in disbelief he accidentally said what was on his mind, "Are you really that clueless?"

Ollie stiffened. Frowning she stared at the floor, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she shifting in her spot uncomfortably, "Umm...John since we're on the topic of cluelessness there's something I'd like to ask you. And keep in mind that you don't have to agree."

"What that you like me," he joked sitting down next to her. She perked up, "Actually, yes, but that's beside the point."

What was an innocent answer with no romantic context to her had different meaning entirely to him. He instantly jumped up away from her as if she burned. "Oh. Oh! You're-oh Ollie I'm flatter. Really I am. I mean I'd love to, trust me your quite the lovely woman, but I couldn't do that to Sherlock. I have a feeling your the first person he's ever found himself interested in. And I don't think he could handle...us. I mean-what I'm trying to say…," John flustered looking to find the appropriate words. Yet none came to him. Luckily Ollie picked up the conversation where he left off.

"What are you...? I'm not sure what you're getting at but I've come to realize from a young age that there are certain social interactions and etiquette that I don't understand. Which brings me to my question. You see...I had this...friend, who used to tell me when I would say something that others would find offensive. Or he'd explain something for me that a normal person would automatically understand so I'd have it for social reference. You see I had an…._odd_ childhood which I'm told is the reason for lack of connection with other and-anyways what I'm asking is if you'd do the same for me?"

He was silent for a moment. Taking in what she was asking. He quirked an eyebrow in question, "You don't seem socially inept? You come across as a little weird but other than that you appear normal interacting with others."

"Oh, I've become very adapt at hiding it. But don't let that fool you, I'm definitely totally clueless when it comes to navigating the social norms. Once I had asked a victims family why it mattered wether their loved one had suffered or not since the guy was dead. It wasn't meant as cruel, I generally wanted to know since I didn't understand. As you can imagine that did not go over well," Ollie grimaced as she rubbed her left cheek, remembering the slap the mother had dished out. John smiled sympathetically at her, guessing that this was why she was so closed off at times. He imagined other kids probably wouldn't have been very understanding of her comments when she was younger.

As the quiet slowly ticked by Ollie wondered if admitting her fault had been a terrible idea. She started regretting opening her mouth, figuring she must have over stepped her bounds with the army doctor. She was aware that it was selfish of her to ask someone fill in for Monroe, that it was wrong to both men, but she needed something familiar. She wouldn't have asked if she thought he'd say no, but his silence was causing her slight doubt in her profile. Maybe she had missed a variable, or a habit, or something that didn't lead to her original conclusion of John being the kind of person that liked helping others. Maybe-, "Sure."

Pulling away from self doubt she popped her head back up, blinking in confusion, "Really?"

"What did you think, I'd say no?"

"Welllll…," she'd faded off looking into the darkness, twisting her hands in front of her persons. It had always been a possibility. John opened his mouth to say something when his phone went off. Flipping it open he read the text. He replaced his awareness back to his odd profiler, "How about we finish this another time. Right now Sherlock wants to meet us in the restoration room. Do you know where that is?"

Ollie suddenly shifted back to her normal charm, that little quirk of her lips returning as well. She tapped a finger to her skull, "Always."

* * *

**Thoughts, comments, concerns?**

P.S. sorry if the last part between Ollie and John seemed corny or out of character (though i hoped he at least retain half his character during their heart to heart...well as heart to heart as Ollies willing to get)

P.P.S. THe first Hen is an actually antiquity (I did a little research just for this :D)


	11. BB:Et tu Brute

_This is my first Sherlock Fanfic, any feed back would be appreciated. When I don't get reviews I begin to wonder if anyone's reading. It doesn't have to be anything special, even a :) will do. **Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A__nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

**88dragon06: **_____________Thanks for another awesome review. They always make me smile. :) I had to get that leverage in their sometime as it will come about in a big way by the end of the Blind banker case :D that'll be fun!_

**aandm20: **_________________No I didn't know that, it's always nice to hear :) thanx that made my day! And the poetic part is due to my creative writing class getting the juices flowing that it bled over into my fic. So glad you liked it :D_

**Bored411: **_______________________That's a relief to hear. I've been getting mixed reviews. Just means i have something to work on :) Now onwards to the next chapter :D_

**Aria: **_Yes, her fire's starting to come back. It's been a little bit since she's been herself as she did suffer a trauma and I had to make it effect her somehow. A full on break down will happen eventually but she can be a procrastinator so it may take her a bit. :)_

**Midnight Angel414:**___Yo, sup! Nice to have you back :) I'm the same way at time so I understand. Life waits for no one as they say...unless it's a person named life and they have to wait in line but I digress. I'm glad you liked the bit between John and Ollie, i couldn't resist putting it in. :D_

******LavishDish:**_____It is where I'm going. I've noticed a few authors doing the same thing. Though their's is more to do with the fact that it's a John/Oc/Sherlock fic. Something i've been wrestling with myself over weather or not to jump on that band wagon with this fic. But anyways I'm glad you enjoyed it :) And I totally agree._**_  
_**

**Chaosrachel: **_____That was what I was worried about. Hopefully once I've written a few more chapters it'll clear up. As Ollies social disorders are a bit different from Sherlocks as she's different on the autistic spectrum. Though the big thing with her is that she excepts emotion, on a case she'll often try and push it aside to remain objective, but she'll give into them. Unless it's crying, she hates crying. :) But none the less I'll try and steer her away from becoming to Mary sue. And I'm not sure who she'll go with yet. I won't know till I write it, I always wait till last minute :)_

**Colebre: **_It's here, it's here, it's here! :) lol. naw begging fine. reminds me to hurry up. And I so think like that all the time :) You have no idea how many times I've laughed for no reason in pubic, so many stares. :) Ps. I loooove the long reviews, that make me smile when I open my inbox :)_

___S_orry for any grammar mistakes as I rushed it a bit :D

**FYI there is a poll on my profile page for this fanfic on wether Sherlock should find out Ollies secret before or during the great game.**

* * *

Inside the dim restoration room four people sat hovered over one of the many light tables. Books, photographs, and broken artifacts lay strewn upon them, but this desk in particular they were pushed to the side. An unopened file lay in the middle. The woman, Soo Lin Yao, sat despondently staring off blindly into the glow; her hands neatly clasped onto her lap. The others waited patiently for her to speak. A sigh made it's way past her pouty lips as she flicked her dark almond eyes over to Sherlock, "You saw the cipher? Then you know he is coming for me."

The gravity of her words clung to the air like cold water dousing any jubilation John felt over finding the girl. Something that the two consultants could easily steam roll right past. "You've been clever to avoid him so far," Sherlock pointed out. A compliment if Ollie ever heard one. "I had to finish. To finish this work. It's only a matter of time," Soo Lin spoke with a shaky intake of air, peering down at the table, "I know he will find me."

"Who is he. Have you met him before."

She looked back up at the consulting detective and nodded her head. A sad gleam catching in her eye, "When I was a girl, living back in china. I recognized his...signature."

"The cypher," Ollie and Sherlock simultaneously stated. The latter shooting the former one a look that said _I'll be asking the questions, shut up_. Pursing her lips into a tight line Ollie mimed locking them with a key and throwing it away. There was no reason to argue as they'd both ask the same questions. It would just save time if she complied instead of argued. It was the logical approach. Instead she'd spend her time observing mannerisms. Soo Lin frowned, "Only he would do this...Zhi Zhu."

John, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation till then, flexed his crossed arms; furrowing his brow in confusion, "Zhi Zhu?"

Ollie raced her fingers across the table onto his arm in silent answer as Sherlock translated for her, "The spider."

John smiled at the female consultant giving the hand resting on his bicep a gentle pat. She smiled back before retracting it. An affectionate interaction the didn't go unnoticed by Sherlock. Noting that some personal revelation had been revealed when he wasn't present, bonding them. Something he found irritating—upset that she confided in the army doctor rather than him. He would have to interrogate the man later, wasting more of his precious time—though the information could help in divulging the secret that surrounded Olivia Knight. Returning his scrutiny back to his lead he watched as she unlaced her converse, slipping off the shoe.

On the soul of her heel was a black lotus sitting inside a thin circle, inked into the skin. "You know this mark?"

"Yes. It's the mark of the tong."

John frowned. Sherlock, not missing a beat, answering his unasked question, "An ancient crime syndicate. Based in China."

"Every foot soldier bares the mark. Everyone who hauls for them," she continued staring down at the tattoo. Her face painted with a sorrowful memory. John looked over in disbelief, "Hauls...Y-you mean you were a smuggler?"

Putting her shoe back on she felt the need to explain. To show she was a good person, that it wasn't by choice. Something Ollie could relate to. "I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood. No way to survive day to day, except to work for the bosses."

"Who are they," Sherlock asked emotionlessly. Soo Lin's eyes glossed over in unshed tears as she recalled her past. Ollie admired the strength she had to not allow them fall. Most people would start blubbering, making things awkward. She was tough. After all, who else would continue to work passionately on teapots despite the threat on their life. Even if that meant dying. She was a rare breed. "They are called the _Black Lotus_….By the time I was sixteen I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong….I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England, they gave me a job here. Everything was good, a new life…," the dark haired woman trailed off, breath hitching in her throat. As Ollie examined her she found something shocking. She found that she empathized, an occurrence that had only happened a few of times in her life. Something that was most likely due to their similarities. Both had a criminal past, orphaned they had lived on the street, trapped in a bad place they had somehow managed to escape those lives but not without scars. Only thing was, Ollie's had yet to catch up with her. Something she was sure would transpire one day. Sherlocks deep vibrato cut through the silence, "They caught up to you?"

"Yes," Soo Lin swallowed with emotion, "I had hoped after five years...maybe they would have forgotten about me….But they never really let you leave. A small community like ours, they are never very far away," she paused when a tear broke thru her wall. Trying to compose herself she carried on, "He came to my flat….he asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen."

Her words echoed in the female consultants head, _a small community like ours, they are never very far away. _Shivering she pushed away the irrational sense of foreboding that bubbled up with the statement. It was just another reminder that one day she would have to deal with her past indiscretions. Still, that irrational annoying voice nagged on in the back of her mind, _What if this is a window into our future?_

"And you've no idea what it was," John spoke from beside her. The young woman shook her head, "I refused to help."

Watson paused. Picking up on some hidden context of her words, "So you knew him well when you were living back in China?"

"Oh yes….He's my brother," she added sorrowfully. A look of solemn understanding colored Sherlocks features at the betrayal of the brother. It left Ollie wondering what Mycroft might have done in the past to put that look there. "Two orphans," Soo lin started, "We had no choice. We could work for the black lotus or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet….in the power of the one they call Shan. Black Lotus General….I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

Standing up Sherlock opened a file, pulling out the images that he had been plastered on his mirror at home. He passed them over to her, "Can you decipher these?"

"These are numbers."

"Yes I know."

"Here. The line drawn across the man's eyes. This is a Chinese number 1."

Sherlock leaned over pointing to the one scrawled next to it impatiently, "And this one is fifteen, but what's the code."

"All the smugglers know it. It's based upon a book," Soo Lin stated as she turn to grab something when the electricity shut off, taking the lights with it. Sherlock stood up scanning the darkness, listening for any misplaced sound. Squeezing her eyes shut the dark haired woman breathed rapidly with a small hushed voice, "He's here. Zhi Zhu. He's found me."

Turning about the consulting detective raced out of the room. "No. No. No. Sherlock. Sherlock, Wait," John shouted as he made to follow before abruptly turning back. Rushing forward he grab both women dragging them into a caged room near-by. A storage area used for the more valuable pieces awaiting repair and study. "Come here. Get in," he ordered bursting through the door. Pulling them further into the room he hid them behind the shelving next to a table. Crouching down he peered around the edge unholstering a gun, slipping fully into his army training. Soo Lin tried to steady her breathing while Ollie tried standing up to gain a vantage point. John grabbed her arm and wrenched her back down, "Stay down."

"Look John while I appreciate the sentiment I can-," John slapped a hand over her mouth. "Shhhh!"

She glared as the room fell into silence once more. Suddenly six gunshots rang out. Johns head shot up in alarm as he looked over to the women, "I have to go and help him. Lock the door behind me."

Bolting up he ran off, melting into the shadows. Ollie sighed slightly annoyed, but knew that he was making the rational decision. After all, if push came to shove she could protect Soo Lin herself. Quietly she shoved a hand in between her breasts, pulling out a miniature pistol. Something she never left home without. A bra is a handy place to hide items. You can conceal all sorts of things in there, as no one ever pats a woman's chest down. Being female does have it's perks on occasion.

Soo Lin caught the gleam of the gun in the moon light, gazing to Ollie slightly panicked. Apparently, even though her brother intended to kill her, she didn't wish the same fate on him. A reminder of why she found love an irrational absurd emotion. And just because she was capable of the feeling didn't mean she had to like it. "You have a question," Ollie said more as a statement than a inquiry. The woman flicked her eyes over nodding, "When I was talking….I noticed something."

The consultant raised a quizzical eyebrow having thought she would ask her not to shoot her brother. But she spotted the resignation, the knowledge that one of them was going to die, and apparently the girl thought it would be her. She loved her brother too much to kill him. Seeing that she intended to martyr herself Ollie peered around their cover, determined to keep her alive. She wasn't going to lose another one, "Oh?"

"You wore such sadness. One, that can only come from having lived through the same set of circumstances," the woman spoke softly, gazing on in silent understanding. Ollie swallowed thickly. Why were people being so nice and observant today? "Your question?"

"If I might be so bold to ask….were you a smuggler as well?"

Listening to the shots of gunfire she approximated there distance, aware that they were located in the early humans exhibit. Closer than before. Shifting, she returned her attention back to the soft spoken woman who scribbled nervously on a piece of parchment. "No. But, I had similar circumstances," she paused weighing weather or not to speak anymore on the subject. Calculating that Soo Lin wasn't the kind of person who would say anything she decide to impart a vague piece of her past. Maybe lift some unseen weight or guilt that had been hanging around for decades. "I was a thief. A long long time ago. I was so young back then….and I couldn't truly comprehend the path I had embarked upon."

"What made you stop?"

She smiled wanly lost in nostalgia, "Someone made me realized that my talents would be better suited solving crimes rather than committing them. I must admit that my past does give me invaluable insights. And to answer the follow up question you're about to ask, no I wouldn't change my past even if I could."

"Even if though it causes you pain," she asked slightly awed that the blonde knew what she was going to say before she asked. Ollie nodded, "Even if. I am who I am because of that pain."

Abruptly the firing ceased. Stopping them from conversing further. The room weighed down with an uneasy silence. Both women turned towards the door awaiting the sign of the victor but none came. Quietly Soo Lin moved towards the chain linked door. Determination plastered across her face, she held Sherlocks evidence photo's in her hand. Ollie motioned for her to come back, that it wasn't safe, but the woman ignored her. Rolling her eyes the consultant followed her past the artifacts back to the darkened light table. Tentatively she peeked over as Ollie moved to skulk around the perimeter of the room, searching for movement in the dark. She froze as she picked up on an odd sound. Papers rustled on the tables nearby as a wind softly moved it's way through the room. Darting a quick look up she spotted an opened rose window. _Shit, he's in the here._

An intake of breath to the right had her turning, transfixed to the spot. A man, clothed in black, stepped half way out of the darkness directly in front of Soo Lin. Instinct immediately took control of her mind, temporarily shutting it down. Moving with expert poise she didn't make a sound. Approaching the threat she hid herself in the shadows, every muscle composed with quiet lethal elegance. "Dàgē, Liáng, qĭng li...," Soo Lin whispered reaching out to touch the man's face affectionately. The words automatically translated in Ollie's head, _Liang,_ _big brother, please..._Zhi Zhu, or Liang, responded by lifting up his gun. Before he could fully pointed it towards his sister however Ollie cocked hers right behind his skull. "I believe your little sister said please."

He stilled. For a few pregnant moments no one moved, no one breathed, no one talked. They stood in gloom of the moon frozen in time. Waiting. Waiting for someone to break the spell. And finally reality snapped. Ollie witnessed the muscle on Liang's right shoulder tense and hip shift right before he spun around with a sweeping kick. Having seen the previous movements she'd predicted several different outcomes and the counter maneuver's she could use all in the space of a second. As he kicked his leg out she grabbed hold of his shoulders using the leverage to flipped over him, back kicking him in the spine as she came down. Then effectively placed herself between him and his sister as she turned to aim her gun. Without missing a beat he worked through the pain spinning back around with tiger like reflexes grabbing her arm and kneeing her wrist, send crippling agony shooting to the location. Her weapon clattered uselessly to the floor.

Pulling her in with force he shot a clawed palm into her gut, a crack resounded in the room. But as he inflicted that she used the force to head butt him, blood trickling down his face. They stumbled away from each other. Even though he'd knocked the wind out of her and sent her spiraling into anguish—breaking rib nine, fracturing rib ten on the right and creating a hairline fracture on her wrist—adrenaline pushed her forward. Bursting fourth she slammed his hand against one of the light tables five times before his gun finally flew out of his grip. It landed five feet away from her pistol. She raced for her weapon.

An arm clamped around Ollie's bicep as a foot shot out kicking the back of her knees, sending her sprawling forward. Using the momentum she twisted around pulling Liang with her so that she was on top, punching him in the face repetitively. His features contorted in rage as he flipped her onto her back and curled his hand around her throat. Cutting off her airway. With only one good hand to hold his back she choked for air, vision dotting. In a last ditch effort she rammed her screaming knee into the man's groin. He let out a guttural shout of agony falling to the side.

Coughing Ollie spun herself over, gasping for air. Trying to get back up, her legs refused to co-operated, sending her slamming back down. With a strangled growl she pitched herself forward, dragging her body across the floor. Zhi Zhu eyed his glock and copied the action. A race for survival began as they inched closer and closer to the guns. Each pushing themselves with hurried force. Getting nearer and nearer. Only inches away. With one last surge they seized their weapons. And two shots rang into the night.

The room stilled, once again frozen. Only to violently shatter. Ollie's eyes widened as she took stock of the scene. Liang's cold eyes blankly stared at her, his gun halfway across the room to where she'd shot it. Her breathing heavy and labored she slowly contorted her head back. Her heart stopped as she beheld, with horror, a line of blood drip down Soo Lin's face. The woman herself touched her forehead before pulling her hand away. Staring in stunned sorrow at the sight, a tear rolled past her cheek, "Dà gēgē."

_Big brother, _her last words before her body crumpled to the ground. Finding her strength, Ollie launched ahead, "No! No, no, no, no, no! Soo Lin! Soo Lin, come on. Come on, wake up! Don't do this to me! You've got to-you've got to…."

Ollie fell next to her. An awful lump forming in her throat at the woman laying in a puddle of blood, pooling farther and father out. An image of another super imposed it's self over her. A petrifying memory from seven months ago. Gripping her pistol with a surge of rage she wrenched it back over to Liang only to find him missing. Eyes darting around the room she caught him crawling out the rose window on the ceiling, having scaled the pillars and ledge. She fired off all her rounds, but missed each time finding her vision suddenly blurred. It took her a moment to realize she was crying. Angrily she wiped them away turning back to Soo Lin. With a shuddering breath she reached a shaky hand to her throat. Ollie gasped.

Ripping her phone out of her coat she threw the jacket across the room, tearing the bottom half of her pin-tucked shirt. She bundled the cloth to the wound applying pressure on it as hurried footsteps approached. Desperately trying to get her fingers to work, she agonizingly dialed emergency services. "Yes, there's been a shooting at the antiquities museum. We're in the restoration room. She's been shot in the head. Her pulse is weak but she's still alive. Please you have to hurry."

She hung up just as John entered the room out of breath, his eyes searching. "John," Ollie croaked out. He turned towards the sound, paling at the sight. Sprinting over he crouched down next to Soo Lin immediately feeling for a pulse. "She's still alive," Ollie wheezily answered, "EMT's are on there way."

John worriedly inspected the two. He wanted to examine Ollie and help but knew he had to attend to Soo Lin first. Seeing the internal battle wage she made the decision he would have made faster, "John can you hold this for me? I'm having trouble keeping the pressure."

Wriggling of his coat he gently moved her hand out of the way, "Got it. Now sit against the table in an upright position. Tell me if you have trouble breathing. And don't fall asleep."

Weakly nodding she obeyed his orders slowly backing up. Wincing, she leaned against the metal—resting her bad arm on her lap. Sherlock flew into the room in a panic just as she settled down. "John! Olivia!"

Eyes ghosting over the surroundings they landed on the form laying prone in a puddle of red on the floor. John retracted his fingers from her neck letting go of the cloth. "I need you to take Ollie out of the room," John grimly stated as he closed her eyes, telling him all he needed to know. Soo Lin Yao was gone. Frowning at the loss of his lead the consulting detective looked for his profiler. His roommate quietly motioned to behind the table where she rested.

Silently Sherlock walked over to stand in front of her, stopping at her feet. A tight knot formed in his jaw as he examined her supple wiry frame and noted each injury with disdain. Deep red rings circled her neck from where she had been strangled. Her white shirt ripped to the mid abdomen revealed more redskin in the beginning stages of bruising. Blood caked her jeans and painted her hands, one of which twitch in pain. Eyes squeezed firmly shut she tried to hold back what ever haunted memory the incident had released. Without waiting a second more he grabbed Ollie's good wrist and yanked her to her feet. Having not expected that Ollie's knee's buckled and sent her careening into Sherlocks chest. She emitted a strangled noise of pain.

The moment the scent of Irish spring, smoke, and lacquered pine wafted into her nostrils did she register that Sherlock had pulled her up. Unconsciously she leaned into him. Before she could get comfortable—or realize what she'd done—he'd slipped an arm under hers to support her weight and turned her about. But as he led her from the room they had to pass the body of Soo Lin. Ollie would have stayed glued to the spot staring at the now dead woman if Sherlock hadn't forcefully moved her, blocking her view. Her rational side new it was for the best, as every time she saw the body it wasn't the one that was supposed to be there gazing lifelessly back at her. But her irrational side wouldn't leave her be, insisting that she turn around, fight her way back and save what was already lost. Thankfully the consulting detective shut the restoration room doors before she foolishly caved to her irrational thoughts. "Olivia."

She looked up, piecing him with a multitude of emotions behind her stare. Dropping his arm she shuffled away over to the wall, twisting herself around so that her back leaned against it. This time she refused to look at him, firmly placing her eyes on the marbled floor, "I'm sorry."

Sherlock's gaze narrowed, agitated by the apology. He found it annoying when people said sorry for things that weren't their fault. It was an unnecessary waste of time. And when she slid down the wall till she was on the floor, her arms resting on her knees, he then realized he might have to deal with the emotional hysterics that he found women often broke into after witnessing a crime. Something Sherlock wasn't equipped to deal with nor wished to. Though for some odd reason he found that his heart squeezed painfully at the sight of her dejected face. He surmised a visit to cardiologist was in order after the case was wrapped up. He watch his profiler warily, "Do I need to call John over to console you."

Instead of bursting into tears—as he had thought she would—she did something a bit more unnerving. She started laughing. Threading a bloodied hand through her hair she tried to calm herself down, "Oh god, ha, oh geez. I'm sorry, I know it's inappropriate to laugh but it was either this or cry. And I think crying is pointless so…."

Trailing off with a shaky sigh she leaned her skull against the wall to shut her eyes once more. Examining her, he watched her fall into the memory from earlier. Curious he slowly stalked over to her, stopping just a few feet away. "You doing that thing again Sherlock, stop it."

"Stop what. You'll have to be more specific," he stated purposely to get a rise. It would either snap her back to her old self or chip off a chunk of her armor to reveal more of the puzzle that she was keeping. A win win either way for him. Ollie flicked her attention over to him with a piecing glare, "Trying to figure me out while I'm in a state. While I understand the need to solve a mystery whole heartedly, in this context you don't what to re-open something I still haven't properly compartmentalized and moved past."

"I hadn't realized you were so sentimental."

"I'm not!….Look I'm sure you've read up all about me, and I'm sure you're not going to let this go, so in the spirit of saving time and my sanity I suggest you take a look at my last case seven months ago. That is if you're really so interested in why her body's messed with my head, check the last victim. And then never bring this up again," she said evenly and quietly. A tone that was much more threatening than her shouting could've ever been. It was just that moment that EMT's rolling a gurney arrived on scene with police in tow, led by a security officer. "Where's the gunshot victim," the beefy paramedic asked as he approached them. Sherlock leaned back, stepping out of the way as an officer walked over. The consulting detective motioned to the door, "Deceased and in there."

Ollie slid herself up the wall as the medics changed their direction, instead heading towards her as their priorities shifted—the officers disappeared into the restoration room. She groaned as one of the EMT's brought the gurney to her. "Ma'am where are you injured," the thin man asked as he pulled down the rail on the bed.

"I'm fine-," she started when Sherlock cut in, "She has two fractured ribs, bruised knees, a bruised throat due to strangulation, battered knuckles and possibly a fractured wrist."

Ollie went to argue she was fine when Sherlock jabbed a finger into her side. She scrunched away from him with a shout of pain—sending him a withering glare. The medic rushed over grabbing her arm to steady her as they pushed her onto the gurney. Ollie tried to get up only to be sent back down. "Ma'am stay down, we don't know how bad your injuries are. If something came loose it could possibly rupture an organ if you move about. They'll have to do an x-ray at the hospital. So until then," the beefy medic informed as he pulled out an IV, "we'll just give you something to stave off your pain."

Ollies eyes immediately bugged at the needle, jumping away from it, "Eh! Nope, no sorry. I refuse. You will not be putting that into my arm!"

Sherlock raise a bemused eyebrow at her out burst. He hadn't thought she was trypanophobic. An interesting detail. "Ma'am it'll only hurt for a second and then your pain will go away, plus it's procedure."

She jolted away again wincing in pain, "Well I don't care if it's procedure, or will supposedly make me feel better. I don't want it. I don't know where it's been. I don't know what you put in it. You say it's morphine but how do I know you didn't switch it out for any of the numerous other chemicals that are untraceable on a tox-screen. Are you even a real paramedic! You got here pretty quick! Who do you work for! Now I'm getting out of this bed-," Ollie stopped ranting mid stream as she looked down at syringe plunged into her arm, "I always knew I'd be assassinated."

"Ma'am you're gonna be fine. This is just to calm you down," the man stated as he pulled it out rubbing a swab over the injection site. The female consultant fell back onto the gurney as her senses started to become sluggish and heavy. "Sir, if you like to catch up after you've given your statement will be taking her to Saint Bart's," the man on her left informed. Sherlock nodded walking over to pat her hand. "Don't like hospitals," he blankly asked, boring into her. Weakly she shook her head sending tendrils of golden hair into her face—causing his heart to palpitate oddly and re-think about visiting a cardiologist sooner—she pouted trying to talk through the haze of the morphine, "they always try to kill me."

Ollie blinked unevenly trying to rid herself of the fog, but before she could attempt to escape—something that would most likely end poorly in her state—the EMT's began wheeling her away, as one pushed the IV into her arm. John came out with her coat just as they were carting her past the door, one of the officers trailing behind him. "Ollie, Sherlock and I have to go to the station but this officer is going to take your statement at the hospital. I'll hang onto your coat and bring you a change of clothes later."

She scrunched her eyebrows as something in that sentence said bad idea. When they turned a corner it finally hit her, her though process taking longer than it should in the morphine haze. In order for him to get her clothing he'd have to go into her bedroom. And if he went in there….she paled. Great god he'd walk right into the web of madness. He'd see everything! And then her secret would be out. A vibrating by her hand pulled her out of her panic. Rolling her head to the side to look down she realized it was her phone. Sherlock must have placed it there. Fumbling with it she propped the contraption open._ Don't worry I'll make sure not to ruin your sox index -SH _The text did not help calm her. Slowly, as her mind wasn't at full capacity, she began to formulate a plan on how to get home first. First order of business. Steal a pair of scrubs.

* * *

_Alright so almost done, I mean it this time! And sorry if anything sounds weird or reads weird, my eyes are starting to go as it's seven in the morning and i've been up since yesterday. OMG giant storm about to hit my house! Which probably isn't good as the elm next to my home is rotted away. I'm gonna get squished! Or drown as I'm near a river. But not till tomorrow, that's what the newsman said. Horray for M.A.! I'll see you all next time...maybe muwhahaha! I'm gonna invest in a kayak so I can be that guy paddling away down the street :D Thanks for all your reviews :)_


	12. BB:Morphine mambo

**__****Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A_nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

**Time Lady Tinkerbell: **_Thanks so much for the review! I love to hear what people think, it lets me know if I'm keeping the story on the right track and FYI I can't wait for the unveiling either! :D_

**Gwilwillith: **_Well here is you're more, thx for reading! :)_

**Twiles: **_You're welcome for the collection. I thought it might make things easier :) And Two reviews in a row! You're awesome! And as for my favorite stories there are many but most are in my favorite list on my profile, so you can find my recommendations there :)_

**Cheshirekadi: **_I'm glad you thought the fight scene was well written as i had my doubts when writing it and wasn't sure if it was good or not as it was my first one :)_

**SarcasticRaven: **_I am ok, thanks. And I will continue to update, I would hate for that to happen :)_

**ChickenPottPie: **_That's ok you reviewed now :) I'm glad you fine aswell :D_

**JugalettePENNER: **_I will :D_

**88dragon06: **_I had originally planned to save her and put her in a coma but it wouldn't have worked with the story-line so unfortunately she had to go. I thought the cardiologist bit seemed like it would be a him reaction :D And he knows of the lat case he just didn't read the victim list as her attachment to them wasn't publicized but if one were to look at previous one they'd see it, that's sort of what she was telling him to look into :P. And thing are better :)_

**Shelibot: **_And you shall have more! I must feed your addiction after all :)_

**Stupid-nickel: **_NOoooo not my popcorns! Damn fine here you go now giveme it backs I'm starvin'. :D_

**ColeBre: **_Yes! Thank you for the super long review made my day when I read it :) And I'm not dead or maybe i am and don't know it? Would give a new term to ghostwriter lol :) So anywho look forward to you ramblin' review :D_

**Chaorachel: **_Looks like you may get your wish if the polls are anything to go by :)_

**Midnight Angel414: **_Sorry about the vagueness but it'll all help ease into the truth of her past and secret when the great game comes around :) And am i a bad person for saying an enthusiastic "yes" when you said you cried because it made me feel like i can write good emotional scene? No? Maybe? Probably :P_

**Mad With A Box: **_Yeah she's really paranoid at times :)_

**Bored411: **_Didn't need the kayak *sighs* but i did have fun watching the storm :)_

**DeathDragon130: **_I ended up trying to do that when i was in the hospital a few months ago because i was so dehydrated they could find a vein and the stabbing was extremely painful due to it, that and i've always been sensitive, unfortunately people held me down. My arm was so purple and black, blood smeared all over my arm, it was not a pleasant day._

* * *

_ The indiscernible stars beyond the collection of clouds were a warning of the storm riding upon the winds. Thunder boomed in the distance with the promise of rain, an unwanted gift for such a dreadfully cold night. Turning up her collar for warmth Ollie Knight pushed through the door of 221 Baker street, hoping she'd made it back in time to salvage her work. After the EMT's had brought her to the hospital and the doctors had finished their x-rays, concluding what she already knew, she'd made her escape._

_ Being left in an out-patient room unsupervised, as the doctor went to grab some ace bandages, Ollie had snuck out into the hallway and proceeded to blend in. No one even batted an eye. After that it was quite simple. Break into the staff locker room, grab some scrubs, use her lock pick to open up one of the lockers, find some cash, escape the hospital without delay and hail a cab. Easy enough, except….she'd accidentally been mistaken as the new hire that was running late. The head nurse had given her a long scolding and then began to show her the ropes. Thankfully before Ollie had to resort to any drastic measures another nurse came over to ask the woman a question, a distraction efficiently used to duck around a corner and make her exit out the back door. Unfortunately hailing a cab hadn't been as easy as she'd hoped it would be, thus wasting more of her time. The traffic on the way hadn't helped matters either._

_ Swiftly, but quietly, making her way down the stairs to her home she noted that her door was slightly ajar. Her breath caught in her throat for a second, dreading the scene soon to unfold. Ollie carefully entered to find her traps uselessly dismantled to the side. Stepping over scattered books on the floor she approached her bedroom silently, a light trickled past the crack of her door that hadn't been on when she had left. Slowly, she pushed it open with trepidation to find a single occupant. One less than she had feared but the one she had hoped wouldn't be there. Sherlock._

_ The know-it-all consulting detective examined the photo's and articles on one of her walls, careful of the line of threads weaving across the room. He fingered one of the more recent pictures delicately before suddenly stopping. Blue eyes instantly shifted to lock with hers and a long silence pursued. There was something primal about the way his eyes roamed her persons. Like a predator calculating the weaknesses of it's prey before it pounced. And this predator was waiting for an opening. Yet there was something else coloring his actions that Ollie couldn't quite put a finger to. Stalking forward with refined masculine grace that only Sherlock could manage he effortlessly avoid the tangle of the crime web that took over the expanse of her dwelling._

_ The closer he got the more her pulse inexplicably raced. As fast as she could process, her eyes darted all around his features trying to asses his intentions and state of mind. The more she looked the more a small tingle of irrational fear bubbled up at the results coming back, along with another feeling_—_one she refused to even acknowledge_—_causing her to back peddle into the living room. _

_ Sherlock never deterred, never wavered, as he continued towards her and closed the rapidly lessening space between them till her back hit one of her bookcases, resulting in a small avalanche of novels. In a brisk motion he effectively entrapped her between his forearms, placing them on either side of her head. His face so close to hers that their noses almost touched. So close she could smell the scent that was entirely his own, one that a part of her secretly enjoyed. Irish spring, smoke, and lacquered pine with just a hint of linseed oil from the bow of his violin._

_ "Olivia," his deep baritone vibrated against her skin. A rush of electric sensation shot down her spin with a shiver and Ollie once again found her mouth parched. She swallowed at the smug entitled smirk that he always wore when he was right made its way onto his face. Ever so languidly, as if in slow motion, he inched his face closer to hers never breaking eye contact. "I. Know," Sherlock breathed as he flicked his gaze to her parted lips ever so briefly, "your," he spoke softly as he veered to the side of her face. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear he purred into it, "Secret."_

_ "Oh, yes about that...look I-I can explain. I didn't want to involve you since wel-well you saw the wall so you should know," Ollie defended accidentally sounding like a bumbling idiot as she found their proximity distracting for thought. She cursed her self for showing the vulnerability. He pulled back to give her a once over, eyes heated with an emotion she refused to register as the idea of him feeling it was absurd. She had to do a mental retake when he quickly wetted his lips. He smirked, "I wasn't talking about your room."_

_ "Then what are you talking-."_

_ Ollie never got to finish her sentence when she found her mouth suddenly occupied with Sherlock's. His pale lips devouring hers, yet she refused him entrance. Demanding her obedience he led them with fevered rhythm. A hand gripped and weaved it's way into her hair pulling her into a deeper kiss as the other found its way around her waist. To which he canted his hips toward. Ollie gasped at what she felt pushing against her thigh with a strange sound she'd never made before. Her sudden mewl gave him advantage and entrance into her mouth, his tongue instantly dueled with hers. For a second he pulled back for air before nipping and licking his way down her jawline to the hollow of her neck. Ollie tried to regain her mind, extract herself from the situation, but faltered when he found an erogenous zone. All thoughts momentarily escaped, pushed away, as she bucked against him digging her fingers into his black coat, "Sher-"_

Ollie Knight's eyes instantly popped open with a speed rivaling that of light. Heart pounding in her ears her EKG rapidly beeped somewhere in the vicinity. Groggily she moved her head to inspect her surroundings to reveal she was still in the hospital, her X-rays plastered onto the light tables on the wall beside her. She hadn't left yet. Running a weary hand down her face she tried to dispel her mortification,"Damn drug induced sleep."

As the monitor registered her slowing pace she hid her eyes from view by crossing her arms over them. That was not the sort of nightmare she was expecting to have after the night she had had. Actually, it wasn't a dream she was ever expecting to have. She hadn't had one like that since well...ever! She wasn't an overtly sexual creature by nature, as she saw no need to partake in the carnal delights most of the populace participated in as it's sole purpose was that of propagating the species. And because she felt no need to create a precocious progeny just yet the thought of even doing that with Sherlock was a bit...odd. Even if it was some nonsense drugged up dream. One she blamed on the fact that he was the last thing on her mind before she'd drifted off. It would be yet another thing to add to _the vault, _a place in which she stored memories she didn't wish to recall—it may be an impossibility to forget but that didn't mean she'd let them have free reign of her mind like the majority of her it's space was extremely limited, and would take time to figure out what to exchange it for, the cost was worth it. Ollie didn't need that image rattling around in her head. Though it wasn't a guaranteed certainty it would stay there all the time since things did tend to escape on occasion. Her earlier episode was proof of that.

Ollie felt foolish for not having realized that she'd been dreaming till then. She snorted at the absurdity of dream Sherlock. That should have been her first clue, Sherlock would never in a million years act like _that_! Not even if he was drugged. It was at that thought that her side suddenly vibrated. Peeking out of her pyramid of shame she made a grab for her cell, flipping it open to reveal she had one new text message. _We're down in the morgue. If your all done we'll grab you on the way out. Also, didn't have time to go home and get you something to wear, sorry. -John_

Ollie let out a mental sigh of relief, at least one of her problems had taken care of itself. Shifting up higher onto the hospital bed with a wince she replied back. _On my way down. _Throwing the blanket off, Ollie could see she was still wearing her clothes, caked with now dried blood. Not something she could easily walk around in without being stopped, so she scanned the empty room for options. There was a johnny on the bed but her dignity refused to even consider it. Her yellow jacket draped over a chair remained untouched. On the other side of the room there were blankets and bed sheets on some shelves, as well as a few towels next to them. But nothing was really usable besides the coat but she needed pants or she'd look strange and draw attention. Gingerly she got off the bed, shut off the machine next to her, and made her way to the door to peek out.

Looking down the corridor she considered the variables. She could try and walk out in her present state but with the influx of nurses in the hallway she was bound to be stopped, especially since they had all seen her unconscious body get wheeled up there. Thinking she might have to use the air vents, which were a bacterial breeding ground for every cold and virus imaginable—i.e. not her favorite option—she spotted a pair of scrub bottoms laying neat and clean on a work tray. Drumming her fingers against the door frame in thought she calculated how to get the item. Shifting her line of sight Ollie noticed the older man in a wheel chair sitting idle nearby with a vacant look. The man was clearly bored and from the way he kept swallowing, most likely hungry. Pulling her head back into the room she bent backwards to look at the tray near the bed. It was full of mostly eaten food, none that she'd personally saw to, but had one item that remained untouched. A great bargaining tool since it was always a hospital favorite. Briskly walking over to it she grabbed the cup and walked back over to the door.

Peering out once more she tried attracting the older man's attention, "Pssst! Excuse me, sir!?"

He blinked and looked around for the owner of the voice before squinting in her general direction. Ollie waved as he raised a confused bushy eyebrow. Using her hands she pointed over to the blue bottoms and then held up the chocolate pudding for him to see, gesturing between them for a trade. He smacked his lips together at the chocolaty treat and then pointed to the tray she had motioned towards. Ollie nodded her head confirming him that he was indeed correct. Extending a slightly shaky hand he grabbed the pants between his slim wrinkled fingers, pulling them onto his lap. He took a furtive glance back to the nurses station to see if anyone was watching before he quietly and stealthily wheel himself over. When he was halfway to her room a female nurse looked around with confusion to her coworkers, "Has anyone seen mister Cafferty?"

Mr. Cafferty, as luck would have it, happened to be the man pushing towards her. His eyes widened in fright at the prospect of being caught before making the exchange. Ollie hurriedly ushered him forward with her hand as the nurse turned her head scanning the area for her misplaced patient. Just as the man reached her did the nurse see him, "There you are!"

In a flourish of movement they made the trade and Ollie advanced back into the room far from view. Through the crack in the door she could see the look of giddy happiness Mr. Cafferty had once he ripped open the top of the pudding cup just as the nurse grabbed the back of his chair to cart him off, "Come along Mister Cafferty it's time for your enema."

Waiting a few seconds until she was sure they were gone Ollie unbuttoned her jeans and carefully removed them with painful difficulty as the meds began to wear. Chucking them to the side she slipped into the scrub bottoms that were a little tight but manageable. Next came the hard part. With strenuous effort she pull off her ripped shirt, breathing through fast shallowed bursts, and peered down at her abdomen to inspect the outcome of her damage. She grimaced as she was met with mean dark bruises. It was going to be hurting tomorrow when her body finally went full swing into repairing the injuries and swelled. Wincing she grabbed her coat and shrugged it on. Buttoning it up all the way with one hand, since she was nearly half naked underneath, Ollie then collected her x-rays, hiding them in her coat, and left the room.

Shutting the door soundlessly she looked both ways and decided to go for the stairs near the elevators when two nurses headed towards her empty room. She prefer to be long gone before they sounded the alarm. Just as she was about to pass the elevators the left one pinged open. John looked up in surprise and Sherlock quickly scanned her before going back to his disinterested candor. "Ollie! Fancy that, we were just about to gather you. How are you feeling," John asked. "Fine enough. Did you guys wrap up with the police already? Scratch that, your both here so that's a yes. I'll meet you two in the lobby-" Sherlock cut off her nattering, "just get into the lift."

"We already know my position on elevators so no. I'll be taking the stairs."

"In your condition, you're more likely to fall down the steps and end up being emitted once more, which will inevitably waste my time. So," Sherlock grabbed her hand and forcibly pulled her in, "stop being infantile and get over it."

He quickly pressed the button for lobby as he held the profiler in place against his chest, stopping her from escape. She stiffened at the contact. His proximity accidentally brought up images of her earlier dream, pure will power was the only thing keeping the blushing to a minimum. She canted her head back to look up and see Sherlock repressing an amused look. She scowled. "Are you sure you're not a psychopath rather than a sociopath? After all you're enjoying this a little to much," Ollie grumbled as she turned to glower at the metal doors. John snorted as he quickly turned his head to the side to hide the smile.

* * *

When they reached 221 Baker Street Ollie was about spent and ready to call it quits for the night as she stumbled languidly behind her neighbors into the welcome warmth of the hallway. Sluggishly, and with a yawn, she meandered towards the descending stair case. "Ollie?"

Turning her head she looked up to John leaning over the banister and hmmed a response. "Aren't you coming up," he asked. She shook her head, "No, I think I'm gonna call it a night actually. Things are starting to ache."

"Do you know what they prescribed? Because I could determine what else you could have if your ribs are bothering you too much." The man fretted mentally going through his medical knowledge. Ollie shrugged, "They gave me perks, but I'm fine don't worry yourself over it."

"Liar," Sherlock called out from above, having ran ahead of the doctor. Ollie moved up to the banister to shout back, "Don't ease drop nosy Nancy!"

"It's not ease dropping if your inane conversation carries to the next floor for all to hear. If you didn't want others listening in take your blathering's else where."

"Sherlock," John hollered with reprimand before double taking and returning his attention back to his female neighbor, "What did he mean liar?"

Before she could retort, or lie, Sherlock's voice butted in with one of his unwanted deductions, "When getting into the cab Olivia was careful to mind her midsection, even going so far as to unconsciously hold it when she was sitting down. Any time the cab came to a halt she braced herself for the pain and winced on ever pothole. If it were properly wrapped she wouldn't be so cautious. I imagine she was too busy escaping to wait for proper treatment due to her Nosocomephobia. Also, calculating her height and weight, along with her age, her meds should have metabolized by now so she should be in quite a large deal of pain. Thus the lie. It's quite simple Watson, even you should have been able to figure it out."

"I'm not afraid of hospitals! I just don't trust the people in them! On more than one occasion an attempt on my life has been made at a medical facility," Ollie defended unconsciously crossing her arms over her chest. The action was instantly met with regretted as she retracted them with a wince. _Shit!_ Johns eyes slightly narrowed at her reaction before he rolled them with an exasperated sigh and waved her over, "Come on, up stairs with you."

She was about to protest when he spoke up, "I don't want to hear it. Your coming up so I can have a look at you and wrap your ribs. Now up you go."

Standing still for a few seconds she gauged his seriousness and the actions he might take to make sure she did as he asked. She could tell from his posture that he wasn't above kicking in her door to keep her healthy. Ollie slumped her shoulders and relented, walking up the stairs and muttering as she trudged past, "You know it's really hard to have a private life around here."

"Oh just march. Besides, aren't you a little interested in helping dissolve a criminal organization," John asked hooking just the right type of bait in front of her intellectual curiosity. The man was more clever than people gave him credit for. Sliding off his jacket he threw it onto the couch and disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the necessary supplies. Leaving her alone with Sherlock. He moved around her and closed the door in order to hang his coat on the rack,"It's not just a criminal organization it's a cult. The brother was corrupted by one of it's leaders."

John re-entered with what looked to be a white tackle box and ushered her over to his chair. Ollie obediently obliged. Dropping to his knees in front of her he opened his neat and organized kit. As he pulled out the pristine ace bandages he glanced over at Sherlock jumping into the conversation, "Soo Lin said the name…"

"Yes, Shan, General Shan," the consulting detective filled in when he came to rest near the couch, watching the other two. John ripped a hole in the packaging and discarded it into the box. Then, regarding the female profiler sheepishly, he cleared his throat, "Um right. Ollie I'm going to need you to sit forward, take off your jacket and pull up your shirt so I can wrap this around you."

"Fine," Ollie began as she fished out the x-rays and dropped them to the floor, unbuttoning her coat, "but I didn't have time to find a shirt. Should make things easier for you though."

Johns face lightly pinked as the coat fell to reveal her bra. Instead of behaving like a normal person she sat unperturbed by the fact that she was half naked in a room occupied by two men. But his face hardened when he noticed the dark bruising marring her flesh, "You know you could have been killed."

"A hundred and eight people die every sixty seconds so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility, and that's just by natural causes, but I find I'm quite prepared for dangerous situations. Though a bit out of practice."

"I got that when you left this behind." John waved her small pistol before her to which she quickly snatched it up, inspecting it's parts thoroughly for damage or mistreatment. Satisfied, she shoved it back into her bra and caught the doctors look of bewilderment. "It's the best hiding spot," she explained, "no one thinks to search a woman's chest."

"Do you regularly hide things in there?"

Ollie shrugged, "Of course. Wouldn't you if you had the required parts?"

"It's an effective use of space and assets John. She'd be an imbecile not to take advantage of them but it does lead one to wonder, why the need for two concealed weapons. One hidden at home and one that could get past security if need be," Sherlock inquired with a quick quirk of his lip. "Why the need to ask questions you already know the answer to," Ollie shot back with a challenging smirk. John shook his head with a look that clearly said _get a room _when a thought occurred to him. He pierced Ollie with a worried gaze, "What if Zhi Zhu comes back. You saw him, saw his face, wouldn't it be safe to assume he'd come for you again. After all, we're still no closer to finding them…"

"Wrong," Sherlock interjected, "we know almost all there is to know. Soo Lin gave us most of the missing pieces. Why would he go and see his sister? Why would he need her expertise?"

"Well, she worked at the museum," John shrugged as he set the wrapping.

"Exactly."

"An expert in antiquities... Ah. Of course. I see," John stated as the reality dawned on him. The consulting detective continued, "Valuable antiquities, John. Ancient relics of China, purchased on the black market. China's home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mau's revolution."

"The Black Lotus is selling them."

In a flurry of movement Sherlock grabbed John's laptop off the side table and sat down at the cluttered desk by the front window, shoving articles aside for room. Instantly his long fingers danced across the keyboard as he pulled up a search engine requesting information on recent antiquity sales. Several windows for several auction houses appeared on the screen as he speedily scrolled through them. He paused on one. A pair of well preserved Ming vases. He pointed it out to the others, "Check the dates. Look. Arrived from China a week ago. Anonymous. The vendor doesn't give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East."

"One in Lukis's suitcase and one in Van Coon's," John reasoned as he came to lean behind the other man. Peering over his shoulder he pulled out a brown leather journal and started flipping through the day calender, briefly returning his attention back to the computer at every five second interval. Going to quest search Sherlock typed in _antiquities sold at auction. _"Look, here's another one. A month ago. Chinese ceramic statue. Sold for four hundred thousand."

Johns hand shot to the screen a second after. "Ah, look a month before that, Chinese painting. Half a Million."

"All of them from an anonymous source. They're stealing them back in China

and one by one they're feeding them into Britain," Sherlock spoke with restrained excitement, his mind whirred with deductions and possibilities. Ollie _hmm_ in response as she heaved herself out of her chair and lazily walked over to lean down to rest an arm on the back of Sherlocks chair,"Well, it's a very progressive market with huge amounts of money to be made. It's much safer than others which is why it's so lucrative considering most dealers, appraisers, and government officials are looking for stolen Iraqi treasures as of late due to global publicity. Not many realize that China has a similar problem. It's a real shame no ones stumbled upon this till now."

"And how do you know this?" John asked. Not taking her eyes off the screen she answered off handedly. "I do a lot of reading to keep up with current affairs. As a really awful TV show once taught me as a child, knowledge is power."

Satisfied with the answer, but mostly knowing he wouldn't get much else out of the profiler, John checked his book again, gliding a finger down the page, and then looked down at Van Coon's day planner on the table before returning to the screen, "Huh? Every single auction coincides with Eddie or Brian Lukis traveling to China."

Sherlock straightened, "So, if one of those men was greedy, when they were in China, if they stole something…"

"That's why Zhi Zhu's come," John nodded. Before anything else could be said Mrs. Hudson knocked against the door frame. Everyone spun their heads to the landlady. She smiled and waved an apology not meaning to intrude. "Sorry," she said, "But are we collecting for charity Sherlock?"

"What?"

"A young man's outside with a crate of books."

"Ah. Finally. It took him long enough. Just send them up Mrs. Hudson," he waved her off as he closed the laptop. She shook her head. "I'm not your house keeper," she argued ready to leave to do as he asked when she noticed the condition of her other tenant, "Oh! Ollie look at the state of you, what happened? Did the boy's get you involved in all this death business? Are you all right?"

"Mrs. Hudson you can fret over the well being of Miss Knight once you've directed Scotland yard up the stairs with my books. Now please stop wasting time I have a killer to catch and a criminal web to unweave and it's pertinent I decrypt the code," Sherlock asserted as he stood to full height. The older woman brought an exasperated hand to her face, though she was used to Sherlocks abrasive nature. She usually catered to all his whims but her priority shifted towards her American tenant as she was injured, her motherly instincts demanding she hover. Seeing this Ollie waved her off, "I'm fine Mrs. Hudson. There's no cause for alarm. You can go tell the police to bring up the books before Sherlock starts shouting abuse."

The man in question shot her a withering look that was ignored as Mrs. Hudson appeared unconvinced but left none the less. Now that that was over Ollie walked to Johns chair and grabbed her jacket, folding it over her arm, still half naked. "Thanks for the medical attention John but I'm going to turn in for the night. As much as I enjoy solving cases I'm not particularly necessary for the next part of the process. It's much to tedious for me to care about right now. But you two have fun."

Her words rang half true. She did appreciate John's medical care but she could deal without the sleep and help out. Her memory would actually be a great advantage for the task they were about to delve into. God knows how many times she'd done it before. It was just a matter of putting some distance between her and the male consultant. The room smelled of him. And smell just so happened to be a huge memory trigger. One in particular that she hadn't yet deposited into the vault. Once it was safely tucked away by tomorrow she would happily get involved with the reading.

Ollie expected some sort of resistance from Sherlock, as he wasn't one to let an asset go to waste, but what she hadn't foreseen was John. Apparently their '_talk_', as she was mentally dubbing it, from earlier must have bonded him to her. It was the only reasonable reason as to why he lightly pushed her onto the couch so that she was forced to sit. "I'll be having none of that. You sit down I'm not finished with you."

Slightly surprised she speechlessly watch him fish out a vial and syringe from his medical kit. Her eyes honed in on the item and were suddenly filled with thousands of scenarios in which the questionable fluid inside could kill or maim her. But before she had proper time to protest and jump off the couch he moved, jabbing the thing right into her shoulder.

Ollie jumped away from the doctor falling onto her side on the couch with a yelp, "Rat bastard!"

She twirled around so that she was lying face up on the upholstery and smacked her lips together, making a face at the menthol like metallic taste that found it's way into her mouth. The one that always accompanied an injection of morphine.

Instantly her irises expanded with a rush of euphoria that spread throughout her body as the pain dissolved into weightlessness, "Oh! Oh, that's the stuff. This is fantastic!"

She slumped into the cushions and weakly waved a hand at John as she settled in, "Alright you're forgiven. I take back all the awful things I said."

"You only said one thing."

"Did I? Well, I was thinking it then," she mused closing her eyes. Ollie felt around for the pillow on the floor and grabbed it, cradling it to her chest, getting comfortable. She hated drugs, specifically because they slowed down her mental capacity, but at that moment she could see their worth. She felt like her body was singing, or maybe she was humming a song, she wasn't exactly sure as she couldn't trust her cognitive abilities whole heartedly at that moment. Specifically because when she reopened her eyes she found the room suddenly filled with plastic crates and boxes of books all stacked upon each other. She squinted at them in thought and excepted their reality as true. John and Sherlock were both nearby, occupied with sifting through different piles, and flipping through pages when Detective Dimmock came in with a sealed bag of evidence. He held them up, "We found these at the museum. Is this your writing?"

Ollie slightly turned her head towards John who looked up from his work desk. He sighed somberly, "Uh, we'd hoped Soo Lin could decipher it for us_. _So…"

Dimmock frowned and cleared his throat, "Right. Anything else I can do?"

When no one responded he added, "To assist you, I mean."

Without taking his attention away from his speed reading Sherlock callously dismissed him as he picked up another book, "Some silence right now would be marvelous."

The young Detective Inspector slouched dejected. He glanced over at John for affirmation that he should leave and got a head nod. Ollie suddenly jolted to an upright position and resulted in startling two thirds of the room. "Oh, I know what you could do!"

She held out a hand and wiggled her fingers towards the young man, "Can I borrow your squad car?"

"No!"

Scoffing he left in a huff, two which she followed him out with her eyes and a pout. Which was much better than how he would have left had she not said anything, before he would've been sad and mopey. John set his book down and looked at her bemused, "What were you going to do with his car?"

"I guess we'll never know," she shrugged with a wistful sigh as she fell back into the couch, re-closing her eyes. She smiled at the thought of a cop car joy ride.

Sherlock gave her a once over before returning to the task at hand, "Our profiler is high."

She waved a hand at him before it fell limply to the side, "Psshh, only a little."

John chuckled lightly in the background as her perception of the world began to slip away into the drugged haze of sleep. Sherlocks rumbling voice chased after her conscious mind as he read a word aloud. Her last thoughts were of a hopefully dreamless night.

* * *

_Sorry it took me so long but i had a manuscript due and it had to take priority as my grade depended on it :) But the good news is i think that next chapter will be the end of the blind banker ep and the beginning of an original one :) Also OMG so many reviews last time, u have no idea how happy i was :D and BTW almost 9000 view and 79 reviews! You guys are awesome! _


	13. BB:The Dangers of Dating

**__****Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A_nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

**Midnight Angel414: _I alway look forward to reading you're story as well so i know what it's like having to wait to read mine, sorry. :) But I hope you like this one!_**

**Bored411: **_Well here's the update, love to see what you think of it :D_

**88dragon06: **_Oh Good, i wasn't sure about the dream bit. I was afraid it was bad. thx :)_

**ColeBre: **_Thanks, I make mistakes all the time, Im probably going to re-read my whole series and correct any misspellings. :) And thanks sooooo much for the extra long review and so CAKE BUDDIES! _

**Gwilwillith: **_Thank you very much for the compliment :D_

**Cheshirekadi: **_Glad you liked the passion, even more glad it came across as such. :)_

**SarcasticRaven: **_Thank you for saying so, wait till you read this one :D_

**Time Lady Tinkerbell: **_Hopefully you find some amusing things in this one to. :D_

**Regin: **_I love the articulation of that first sentence, and here is your update! :D_

**LavishDish: **_Oh her subconscious always knows more than she does :D lol.  
_

**BrockenCalibre: **_I'm always glad to hear when people think I've portrayed Sherlock correctly :)_

_** 'sSydney:** She is isn't she. :D_

**LoLoLaLoco: **_I like to think it's different from the others but I'm glad to hear it from others._

**Hangwan000: **_Really!? That's so cool, no one's done that before, thank you. I'll try to update soon :D_

**Kate: **_Thanks for pointing it out, I'm probably going to re-read and fix my spelling mistakes soon. I'm glad you enjoyed it. _

* * *

Ollie's consciousness groggily returned as life blinked back into existence, greeting her with it's empty silence and a familiar ceiling, that wasn't her own, focused into view. Briefly she wondered why no one had woken her till then, as hot streams of sunlight now danced across her face, but knowing the home she'd awoke in it wasn't surprising. With a groan of agitation she shifted her head to the side to glare at the apathetic consulting detective who, from what the ex-profiler could tell, hadn't moved since last night. Currently entrench in sifting through books he had yet to notice his neighbor stirring.

As her injuries beat with the tempo of a Brazilian drum she attempted to pry herself upright, despite the obvious drawback. However, as would be predicted, she ran into a snag and fell back with some choice curse-words triggered when her abdominal muscles flexed. Without so much as skipping a beat, or looking up, Sherlock addressed her pursuit of personal idiocy, "Don't do that, you'll only stress your injuries further and create more swelling. It will already be quite bothersome when we're out later to investigate, I wouldn't suggest making it more so."

"Really? And when exactly did I agree to that. In case you weren't aware I've been resting till now," Ollie bit out between gritted teeth as she sat up, ignoring his instruction. She hated appearing weak and pain always generated weakness, it's why she always adamantly hid it, even if there was no benefit. Sherlock sent her a droll stare at the disobedience and returned to sorting through the pages of the novel in hand. "You have a predilection for finishing what you've started. It's not something an injury could suppress."

"That's a nice way of characterizing my OCD," Ollie snorted as she grabbed a book from the pile beside her. "I'm not convinced you even have a disorder Miss Knight," Sherlock corrected sifting through yet another tome, "it's much more plausible that your obsession is the result of a traumatic childhood event that ended with the murder of someone close to you. Most likely one that went unsolved."

Flipping through a couple pages of the book in her hand Ollie's outward appearance saw no change, no distress from his comment. If anything she looked slightly bored and consequently annoyed. However, her mind had gone eerily quiet at his hypothesis. _He couldn't possibly know about...her. _The thought floated like a whisper through the silence of her gray matter, almost in fear of being any louder as if the man across the room might somehow hear scoffed playing it off, "And how exactly did you come up with that malarkey. Have you been routing around in the confidential notes taken by the copious FBI psychiatrist's I've been forced to humor?"

"No, just basic observations and rudimentary investigation, but now you've peeked my interest. What exactly would I find in those notes," he inquired with that deep vibrato of his. The one that always reminded Ollie of low rolling thunder echoing in the distance, demanding attention. So she obliged, catching his eyes that slightly peered over the wall of boxes between them. A normal person might mistake it as a playful gesture, but she knew better, this was calculating. "If you're thinking about faking your credentials to gain access to them over the phone you won't get much luck. I've been told they've all _mysteriously_ gone _missing_," she cryptically inferred, returning to her page. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was the cause of there disappearance. "So," Sherlock smirked, "if I search your apartment I wouldn't find them."

She froze mid-task and looked up with squinted eyes. "If you start rummaging through my things I swear to god I'll-"

"You'll what Olivia," he taunted with raised eyebrow. _Damn that smug face. _If she even mentioned how she might retaliate then he could consequently thwart her. And, as far as she could tell, he had yet to notice the missing items from his apartment. She wasn't foolish enough to telegraph her moves,so Ollie just smiled wickedly, playing her part, "Oh, I'm sure you can use your imagination, _dear_."

He twitched at the endearment and before any counter or clever quip could be dished out the sound of heavy boots descending the stair case traveled into the room. The two consultants perked up at the noise, unknowing in that they did so. Neither had to call out to know who it was. Both, wanting to present a professional front, instantly returned to uncovering the hidden code by hastily grabbing another book. John stepped in with military grace all gussied up.

Briefly, Ollie glanced up as if just noticing him. "You're in a chipper mood," she stated observing the presence of an added bounce to his walk. One that had nothing to do with a recovered limp. His warm eyes swiveled to her direction yet Sherlock spoke up before he had a chance to comment. "I need to get some air. We're going out tonight."

"Actually," John smiled, switching his attention, "I've got a date."

The consulting detectives face scrunched up as if the most ludicrous notion had just been spoken, "What?"

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun," John explained.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "That's what I was suggesting."

"No it wasn't," John pause with a breath, "At least I hope not…"

As his friend wasn't about to commit to his plan willingly Sherlock changed gears, amending his implementing process, and grabbed his wallet out of his pants[trousers]. "Where are you taking her?"

John thought for a moment as if unsure of why the other man asked, "Ah, cinema."

"Dull. Boring. Predictable. Why don't you try this?"

Pulling out a scrap of paper, Sherlock handed over the shred of poster he had procured a few nights ago at the railway arches. "In London for one night only."

John looked at the crumpled bit and chuckled under his breath, "Thanks, but I don't come to you for dating advice."

Ollie glanced up from her book. Realizing that her nosy neighbor might not get his way with his current approach she opted for the more feminine one. Taking advantage of how most males believe all females know how the others think. A sentiment, that for the most part, was true. "You know first dates make or break a relationship."

"Listen," John calmly sighed moving to the kitchen, "I appreciate your help but you don't do romance. Collected data you've read in scientific journals don't count. Trust me, I'm an expert when it comes to these matters."

"You know," Ollie started, flipping through a book nonchalantly, "I have in fact gone on dates before."

Both men twisted their heads sharply towards her. Both taking a moment to digest the news. Neither quite believing it. "Really," John asked skeptically. She grabbed another book and folded it open, "Yes. I speed date whenever I'm free."

Her omission seemed to validate an experience, and thus knowledge, in John's eyes since he took a step or two closer to her. Seeking advice. "...So then, what's wrong with the cinema?"

"Nothing," Ollie mused before casting a glance to the man, "if you're a teenager or in the _comfortable_ stage of a relationship. It's not exactly a place to go when you've only known each other for a few days."

He scratched the back of his neck seemingly conflicted on what he should do, "Right."

Seizing the mans uncertainty Sherlock swooped in and snatched the scrap of paper back, pulling out his cell. "I'll reserve tickets then."

"Wait! I didn't say I was-"

"I'd like to reserve two under Holmes," he paused for the person on the line, "payment upon arrival, yes."

Abruptly hanging up he shoved the device back into his pocket and returned to the pile of books. The room fell back into it's earlier silence, the only noise the changing of pages and John shifting from foot to foot. The man kept opening his mouth on the cusp of say something before promptly closing it, repeating the action again and again. The taller man shot his eyes back over to his partner, "Still here. Thought you'd be gone by now or would you rather cancel you're date?"

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you," John pointed, "Well, tough. I'm entitled to a personal life Sherlock. Don't call unless one of you two are dying. Ollie if your pain becomes to much there's some meds in the kit underneath the sink."

Quickly he strode out of the room, his haste due to a need to leave before danger or excitement presented itself. Something that was likely when in the presence of Sherlock Holmes. Plus, the man had only one thing on his mind and it had everything to with his after date activities.

The consulting detective waited till John's hurried footsteps reached the foyer before he retrieved his phone again to hit redial. "Yes, I just called to reserve two for Holmes. Yes, I'd like to add two more tickets. Of course."

Ending the call abruptly once more he checked the time on his screen. Calculating preparation and traffic he surveyed Ollie. "Take a shower and change your clothes your beginning to ming," then, as if in after thought, he pointedly added, "Also, I didn't require your help."

There was no point in addressing the smell part of his instruction as it was truth, she was starting to ripen. Night sweats, exertion and fighting killers did tend to have that effect, so instead she chose to comment on the later of his statement. "I know," she assured placing the book down to carefully get up with a grimace, "You were just taking to long."

He watched her navigate the mess, careful of her midsection, and noted the way she tried to swallow any sound of pain. Trying as she may to shrug it off as nothing. Since she was going to pretend it didn't exist he saw no point in acting as it did either. Glad that she didn't make a big fuss about it. He didn't feel like dealing with any female hysterics. Still, there was one thing he was curious about. "Speed dating?"

She canted her head back with a nonchalant shrug, trying to squelch the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "On occasion, and not for the reason it's intended for. Originally I'd lost a bet, which blew up in their face quite hilariously I might add, but I continued on since I found it's an excellent way of testing out new deductive techniques and generally good exercise for the brain, helps to keep it from slowing. I left that part out for obvious reasons of course as John wouldn't have-."

Sherlock abruptly cut in, "I know why you left it out."

"Sorry, habit," Ollie apologized. Sometimes she forgot the man she was talking to thought and processed things on the same level she did. Something that hadn't occurred since her days of active profiler. Still, she wasn't exactly sure wether or not that was a good or bad thing. She was still weighing the pros and cons on that distinct inner debate.

* * *

The cab ride over was quiet, as expected with the two consultants; both deep thinkers they calculated the risk and possibilities of any particular endeavor being embarked. Walking into the theatre that housed the one night circus, papered with Chinese lanterns for added ambiance, Ollie fussed with the hem of her moss green turtle neck. Trying in vain to rip the rouge string sticking out almost obsessively. Sherlock, finally having enough, emitted an irritated scoff and in a flash of movement, plucked the offending string clean out. "Stop fussing and pay attention, you're the bait. The killer knows your face and you know his so-"

"I know the plan Sherlock," she interjected, moving on to picking at the fringe of her ripped skinny jeans, "Seems you've acquired my habit of over explaining."

He grabbed her hand and pulled it up and away from her pants, giving her a long hard look, "I said stop."

Ollie didn't back down, refusing to shift her gaze from his. He was testing her, like he always did, just to see her reactions. Except he was trying to fill in a puzzle that's box was missing pieces, pieces that for the most part resided in her room. She wondered how he would react if he were ever to learn that everything he wanted to know was quite literally under his nose. Unfortunately his reaction would be a short victory for her in the end, cause he would've won. Thankfully the game still continued which meant she was currently winning. As if sensing her inner gloating Sherlocks lip twitched into a small smirk, like he were saying _Not quite yet Miss Knight, not quite yet._

_ "_No, I don't think so. We only booked two," John's slightly confused voiced traveled over, interrupting the perceived mental conversation. The consulting detective kept a firm grip of the profilers hand, keeping up with the ruse they were trying to portray, and startled the Doctor with his correction, "And I phoned back and got two for us as well."

As they approached John's face fell with the knowledge that his date night was ruined and tried to refrain from cursing out loud. He should have known this would happen. Sherlock lifted his free gloved hand in polite etiquette to the doctors date, acting as if he cared about such things. "I'm Sherlock and this is my _date_ Olivia."

Ollies eye twitched as he put emphasis on date, knowing it would irk her and mock John. A wonderful little twofer. The other woman, with cute pixy features and Carmel tresses circling her jacket in loose fashion, looked at the man with surprised green eyes. Hesitantly, she shook the outstretched appendage. "Um, Hi."

"Hello," he responded before rudely walking off, tugging his '_date_' along. "I-I'm Sarah..." she trailed off realized he didn't care. Sarah shifted closer, leaning towards her date, "John, do you mind if I pop off to the ladies real quick."

"No of course not, we'll wait for you by the stairs," he sent her an enamored smile that she returned. Waiting till she disappeared into the bathroom, to let his pleasant smile disappear, he homed in on his flat mate. Striding forward with excessive force he grabbed the front of Sherlocks coat and pulled the man into the crowded stairwell, consequently dragging Ollie as well. "You couldn't let me have one night off?"

"The Yellow Dragon Circus! One day only they're in London. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England…" Sherlock informed, trying to explain the brevity of the situation. One that John didn't care about at the moment, he had other concerns. "Dressed up as a tight rope walker! Come on, Sherlock. Behave! And you," he pointed to the female, "you should be resting not following his idiocy!"

"A killer who can climb! Who can shimmy up a rope! Where else would you find that level of dexterity," Sherlock jumped in pointing out the evidence, slightly offended by his comment

John tilted his head towards the profiler, raising a dubious eyebrow. The male consultant rolled his eyes letting her hand drop from his, "Olivia doesn't count. Exit visas are scarce in China. They'd need some reason to get out of the country, wouldn't they? I just need to have a little look round the place…"

That didn't seem to convince the blonde man but only irritated him further. Not at all appreciating his date being shanghaied by a case. "Fine. You do that. I'll go take Sarah out for a pint," he replied in a clipped tone pivoting to leave. Panicking Sherlock said a phrase that didn't come easy for him with a growl, "I need your help."

"Look, I do have one or two other things on my mind this evening."

Aggravated by his _selfishness_ to comply with _his_ whims Sherlock raised his voice ever so slightly, "Like what!?"

John just stared at him dumbfounded by his cluelessness. He thought out of all people Sherlock would know what he was getting on about, after all he deduced everything. Could he truly be that oblivious. "Sherlock, I'm right in the middle of a date. You want me to chase some killer whilst I'm trying to…"

"What?"

He grated his jaw in irritated disbelief making a face and sent a wary glance towards their female friend. It was that eye to eye contact that finally clued in Ollie, she realized due to her presence he was trying to put his next phase delicately, as it had to do with his libido. Unfortunately he lost his patients as Sherlock still hadn't deduced what the man was trying to mental infer. "Whilst I'm trying to get off with Sarah," he yelled. Yet attempted to recover as said woman appeared next to him at the end of his declaration, "ehhhhh, ready?"

* * *

The derelict victorian age music hall was cast in sharp shadows, an effect of the low laying stage lights around the tall room. A small crowd gathered near the circle of illuminated candles, the stage set by the performers who had yet to make there presence known. In the center of the ring a large vertical wooden board with manacles momentarily had the audiences attention as they waited, but the large covered object had them murmuring.

"You said circus, this is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd," John grumbled, "Sherlock this is...odd."

The consulting detective stopped examining their surroundings, for possible foot holds the assassin could take advantage of, and reminded his friend of the facts. "This is not their day job."

"No sorry, I forgot. Their not a circus," he mocked, "their a gang of international smugglers."

Ollie, who was standing next to her _'date', _managed to suppress the irritated noise threatening to bubble up. She didn't know if it was due to the throbbing pain or Johns stubborn doubt but her patients was beginning to wear thin. "John just give it a chance. If he's wrong, which he's not as the empirical data fits the conclusion, you can lord it over him for the rest of his life."

He opened his mouth to reply when a small drum, played in fast single strokes with a deep resonating sound, interrupted his train of thought. The room quieted. Sherlock sent a silent look to the shorter man that almost equated to, _you were saying? _

A woman dressed in the traditional wear and make-up of a Chinese opera performer—white painted face, jeweled golden headdress with red dangled tassels, and swathed in red ornate silk robes—strode to the middle of the circle. Raising a hand she signaled the drummer to stop and made her way over to the covered object, ripping off the black cloth in dramatic fashion. An old rugged crossbow balanced on a tripod ready to fire was revealed. Above it dangled a sandbag on a chain attached to a metal ball over a bowl strung up to the trigger. The woman loaded the device and proceeded to set it off with a feather from her head dress, demonstrating it's sensitivity.

Ollie didn't bother watching the escapology act though, nor did she jump with the rest of the surprised crowd as the arrow hit the plank. No, there was something about the performer's features that kept bringing her back to the woman on the bridge. Squinting she mentally removed the evasive make-up, revealing the face underneath. The conclusion shifted the profilers demeanor. A small action that caught Sherlocks attention. He leaned over slightly to speak in a hushed tone, "The assassin?"

"No. His associate. That woman shadowed us from Chinatown to the Hungerford bridge. She used her acrobatic skill to slip away," Ollie whispered, glaring at the woman as her assistants strapped a warrior masked man to the board with chains. Locking him in. The consulting detective grabbed her arm, pulling her closer as to not raise his voice, but still express his annoyance over the growing drum beat, "You didn't mention this important information earlier."

"Testing a theory," she shot back, glancing up at him. Daring the man to ask more questions. Of course she hadn't been testing a theory at all. She was 99% sure the woman had to do with Sherlocks case, but there was that other percent, a percentage that could very well have had to do with her own personal investigation that had her wait for further confirmation. And Ollie wasn't about to just hand over that clue to her nosy neighbor.

Seeing she wasn't going to explain herself properly Sherlock let her go, for now, and instead chose to turn his focus onto the performance at hand. He moved up to address the confused medical couple in front of them, more so John than his date. "Ancient Chinese escapology act. The crossbow's on a delicate spring. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."

The drumming picked up in tempo to add building tension, a simple performance enhancer, that none the less captivated the crowd. Suddenly a cymbal smashed causing Sarah to jump and grab John's arm, laughing at her foolish behavior into his shoulder. An action that he seemed to enjoy.

The assassin's associate picked up a small blade from a basket to display to the crowd. Sherlock sloped towards the couple in front of him to explain once more, "She split's the sandbag so the sand pours out. Gradually the weight lowers on to the bowl."

As the sand bag emptied the masked warrior began to struggle and thrash, shouting within his binds as the metal ball lowered towards the bowl bellow. All eyes focused solely on his fight for freedom. Seizing the opportunity, Sherlock implemented the first part of his plan and snuck away to investigate backstage. Leaving Ollie to stand in the open as a ploy to steal the attention of the assassin should he be watching from behind the curtains. It was all really an elaborate game of keep away.

Wiggling the warrior managed to free an arm and then the other as the ball got nearer and nearer to it's target. Producing a hidden key he set off to unlock the chains around his neck as the tempo of the drums picked up, faster and faster. The ball increasingly moved closer, the crowd tensed, Sarah and John frowned worriedly as the performer was only half way through his act, yet the sandbag was almost empty. The ball dropped.

With a snap, the metal arrow streaked across the room impaling the plank, the warrior barely managed to free himself and duck out of the way. Simultaneously the audience clapped with amazement. Sarah sighed in relief, "Oh, thank god."

"I know," John agreed, gazing fondly at his lady friend. He went to comment to Sherlock but noticed his absence. Hearing his unasked question Ollie made up an excuse and shrugged, "Bathroom."

He nodded, but didn't appear convinced, yet didn't really care for the truth at the moment, it wasn't necessary. The less he knew the better his date would end.

Raising her hand, the female performer silenced the crowd as the stage hands cleared the area of props, "Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of the Yangtze river, we present for your viewing pleasure...the deadly Chinese bird spider."

As she left the staging area people once more clapped, a little more enthusiastically once a man twirled down like a yo-yo on a silk rope from the ceiling. The top portion of his body was covered in leather, even obstructing his face, but Ollie noted his wrapped hand. From the hesitant manner in which he gripped the silk told her that certain bones were recently damaged, bones that fit the injuries she had inflicted upon her previous assailant. His face, though covered, appeared disproportionate on one side as if swollen, the same place where she'd punched the assassin. The likely conclusion was that the Chinese bird spider was in-fact Zhi Zhu, a blatant jibe at the foolish authorities who didn't get the reference. But Ollie got it, she understood, and their pride would be their downfall. They may have well just labeled, _Tong: international smugglers and assassins, inquire within _on the front doors.

The acrobat danced around the circle through the air balancing on the parted silk train, the red billowing behind him like wings. An act the crowd ate up with zest. The profiler pulled out her cell and, taking a picture of the flying man, sent a text alerting Sherlock of her identification. Barely looking up from the screen she caught the eyes of the performer, panic and recognition crossed his hollow browns before they hardened with cold intent. Ollie didn't appear worried though, too many witnesses for him to make a move out in the open. What did have her attention though was the moving curtains behind him. Even John noticed.

Inserting a head between the couple Ollie patted John's shoulder, "Right, well I'm just going to pop out for a sec. I believe Sherlock may have gotten lost on his way to the bathroom. You know him. No need to worry."

"What are you two scheming," John asked skeptically, not at all reassured. Not bothering with an answer she made her way around the circle toward the curtains. Within an instant Sherlock came flying out landing back first onto the floor, the warrior from earlier jumped down after him raising a weapon. Realizing it wasn't part of the act people panicked and ran from the commotion. John however rushed towards it, past Ollie to try and tackle the man as he went to swing his sword down at his friend.

Assessing that he was covered the profiler spun on heel to apprehend the spider, who ripped off his mask further confirming her deduction. They locked eyes, for a moment she could tell he was poised and ready to attack but something from behind her caught his attention. Some one signaled a hasty retreat and so he scurried up the silk rope pulling it with him as to stop any further pursuit. Balancing across the high beams he jumped onto a ledge, and monkey climbed his way across the wall.

Taking a run up Ollie leaped onto a large, well decorated, support beam and started to shimmy her way up after the perp. Gritting her teeth through the pain that blossomed with every contraction and burned with every coiled movement she grasped onto the tight molded ledge above, any misstep or spasm could result with her falling three and a half stories. The spider expertly jumped to a balcony booth and disappeared behind the curtains. Taking deep fast loud breaths to brace herself Ollie angled her body to shove off the beam and jump onto the booths railing. Her muscles tightened, poised for the action, when a deep voice called out, "Olivia!"

She almost lost her footing as the shout pierced through her concentration. Scowling over the rookie reaction, she peered around the edge of the beam down at the consulting detective and the two doctors. "You do realize the spider is getting away, right!?"

Everyone looked up at her voice. Sherlock appeared mildly impressed, Sarah was stunned, while John, on the other hand, looked slightly lived and worried. He violently pointed to the floor as he addressed her, "Olivia Knight, you get down here right this instant! You're in no shape to be scaling rafters."

"But the suspect-" she tried to argue.

"Down. Now. We're going," he commanded, using his military tone, leaving no room for argument. It was clear he believed she would fall due to her wounds but the profiler had worked though worse injuries before. Still, she was abhor to admit her skills were a bit rusty. Ollie frowned realizing there was no point in protesting and so carefully made her way back down per his wishes, though she was a bit disappointed that John had little faith in her abilities. She wasn't even two feet from the floor when, surprisingly, Sherlock ripped her off the beam. "Was that necessary," Ollie grumbled jumping out of his grip. He barely sent her a glance, "You were taking to long and I needed you're mobile."

He held up the aforementioned phone, having nicked it from her coat, and began dialing a number. Recognizing he wasn't about to hand it over she followed John and his date out. "I know, I felt you rooting around in my pocket," she snorted before waving an item in the air, and canted her head back at the aproposed man, "Which is why I lifted your wallet!"

* * *

DI Dimmock let out a large stressful sigh upon seeing the Baker Street Know-it-all's stroll into the precinct. That man couldn't just leave things with a call, no he had to come down personally just to make him feel stupid. He had already phoned Lestrade four times that week about Sherlock, he didn't wish to add to it. Something that made him feel awful as it was, because the other DI had only one vacation day left to try and salvage his marriage, but this was his first week running solo and he didn't want to muck things up. He needed a good clean collar to prove he was cut out for the promotion, that he could preform without a babysitter, and that he knew what he was doing. After all he was the youngest DI on the force, so out of everyone, he actually had something to prove.

To his dismay he noticed that they had one more addition to the motley crew and he wondered if they were trying to fix their female to male ratio or just liked bringing civilians into official police cases just to mess with him. What was worse Sherlock had made him appear foolish in front of his subordinates and superiors alike with his little _tip. _One that had yet to pan out_._ He had no idea how the other DI put up with the bloke.

Dimmock grabbed the paper work he'd been searching for at the front desk and tried to disappear before he was perceived, to upset to talk and not swing at the guy. "Ah, Detective Inspector."

Damn, so close. His grip tightened on the paperwork. Briefly he cocked his head back towards the '_Consulting Detective' _in passive aggressive acknowledgement before trudging his way back to his desk, "I sent a couple of cars. The hall is totally deserted."

"Look...I saw the mark at the circus," Sherlock reasoned, "The same tattoo we saw on the bodies. The mark of the Tong."

His flatmate, life partner, caretaker or what ever John was to the other man—Dimmock didn't really care—picked up where the other left off. If they were any other blokes, he might have made a jab about their finishing each others sentences in good natured fun, but there wasn't much camaraderie between him and them, so he held his tongue as he stood next to his desk. "Lukis and Vancoon were part of a smuggling operation. Now one of them stole something when they were in China. Something valuable."

"These circus performers are gang members. Sent here to get it back," Sherlock glared. There it was, that look, the one that seemed to equate to _I'm smarter than you and thus my word is god so don't question me. _It was incredibly infuriating, but he was willing to play ball as long as there was proof and evidence to back up the man's claims. "Get what back?"

The tone of the conversation seemed to shift to uncertainty as the consulting detective looked anywhere that wasn't Dimmock, refusing to make eye contact. It wasn't a very reassuring sign. The final blow was when the army Doctor swallowed, "We don't know."

_What_. Dimmock twitched, trying to appear as calm as possible, despite the cussing in his head. "You don't know?"

Their first female companion, Ollie, didn't appear as uncertain as the other two. She was the one that always had that tragic haunted look about her, like she'd seen some shit that no person should have seen. The look of a survivor that past across her features from time to time. She rolled her eyes, "Well, not entirely. It's a Chinese antiquity that's worth quite a lot of coin. A lost treasure of the ming dynasty most likely as they're always in high demand, the pieces from that era or more ornate and elaborate in design that buyers find them the most aesthetically pleasing. They're quick and sell fast so authorities have a hard time catching it. It's not that we don't know, it's just we only have a general idea of what to look for."

That was at least something, much better than _we don't know_, but it was still just conjecture. And warrants aren't easily given with conjecture, especially where big money was involved. With what he hoped to be a calming sigh Dimmock plopped down at his desk chair before addressing the group's leader, "Mr. Holmes, I've done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something...I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have something to show for it. Other than a massive bill for overtime."

Cue money-flushed-down-the-drain silence. Dimmock groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose feeling a massive migraine approaching. "Please leave. I now have to go salvage what's left of my career before I'm out of a job thanks to this little stunt."

"Well, if you had the proper response time you might've had suspects to show for it," Sherlock stated, his deep droning voice like salt to a wound. The DI looked up about ready to murder him in front of the whole station—he'd probably even get away with it on how the rest of Scotland yard complained about him—he could imagine the elaborate team cover up as he glared a hole into the man. John quickly grabbed his friend reading the situation and pulled him away with an apology, "Sorry. We're leaving, we're leaving."

The group quickly skittered off before the DI went postal, disappearing behind the wooden doors to intake. Dimmock slumped into his chair and let his head drop with a bang onto the desk. It appeared he needed to make another call to Lestrade.

* * *

Ollie Knight played Tetris on her phone—having since gotten it back from Sherlock when John had gotten fed up with their bantering, or as he put it their _childish antics_, and grabbed both items from the pair and forcefully made the switch himself—and followed the dispirited group to their upstairs apartment. Entering the parlor, without so much as looking up from the screen, she managed to maneuver through the maze of books till she reached the couch and promptly stretched across the space. The upbeat game music was the only thing killing the disheartened silence.

John sighed gazing at a book, "They'll be back in China by tomorrow."

Striding over to the thought web on the wall Sherlock shucked his winter garments onto the pile before him. "No, they won't leave without what they came for. We need to find a hideout. A rendezvous," he mused aloud, scrutinizing the tramway graffiti, "Somewhere in this message it must tell us."

Sarah, feeling the odd man out, her date having gotten caught up in the excitement, shifted uncomfortably. Not sure as to what she should be doing she deciding to call it a night, "O-well. I think perhaps I should leave you to it."

Simultaneously, and with varying opinions, the three Baker Street residents responded. John shook his head, still trying to salvage the evening, "Oh. No, you don't have to go yet, you can stay."

Sherlock however selfishly agreed with her statement, not even bothering to look away from his work, "Yes. It would be easier to study if you left now."

Ollie on the other hand was being more practical, even if she was playing a game, "I wouldn't advise it. Due to association with us the assassins may consider you apart of our group. Thus expendable."

They paused. All three looked to each other slightly surprised with the instantaneous responses. John rolled over what the others said and turned to his date reassuringly, "He's kidding. She's joking. Stay if you like."

Those appeared to be the magic words because Sarah's shoulders loosened up. Look at the other occupants she tried to break the ice, "Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?"

"Oh god," Sherlock grumbled before the fireplace, she was going to be one of _those_ people. The kind that messed with his concentration with their dull natterings. John shot him a sharp look that clearly said _shut up_. He only appeared to obey that request because he was to busy in his mind palace to bother saying anything else.

Ollie snorted from her position, but paused as the couple turned to stare. Figuring they may have perceived it as a disingenuous noise she explained her reason, "Sorry, it's just I went out for groceries four days ago and still have yet to bring any home."

The couple chuckled as John then walked to the kitchen, "Well in that case we definitely have to make something."

While Sherlock had a thing about eating on a case Ollie had no such rule. Most of the time she'd get so wrapped up on a job she wouldn't notice her own hunger, but if it was brought to her attention she'd partake in a light meal. Nothing fancy of course, unless she was working for a rich client and it was on their dime—she liked to think of it as redistributing wealth into the economy.

As John rummaged through his sparsely stocked cabinets Sarah wandered over to Sherlock, to see what he was up to. Feeling her presence he relocated to his desk across the room, pulling at papers and photo's in an effort to find something he missed.

Not picking up on his subtle hint to leave Sarah commented about the pictures on the wall, "So. This is what you do. You and John. You solve puzzles. For a living."

A bit irked he corrected the description, "Consulting detective."

"Oh," she frowned seemingly put out. Feeling slightly out of place Sarah turned to the only other woman for conversation in hopes of rectifying that. "What about you? Are you a detective as well?"

The dark haired man growled under his breath at her wrong assumption. Ollie gave her a quick glance before returning to the game, "No. Writer actually."

Sherlock snorted, "To be a writer you have to actually write something."

"Well, _dear, _it's all up here," the blonde tapped her temple, "would you like me to recite chapter 33 for you? I've just finished it."

Luckily he had no designs on hearing it and instead changed the topic. Scowling he eyed her phone with barely concealed venom, "Turn off that drivel. It's impeding my thought process."

Fat chance. Ollie was about to instigate another fight by turning it up, as she found she relished riling him, when Sarah beat her to it by noticed something on Sherlock's desk. She pointed to an image, "What are these squiggles?"

"They're numbers," he grit out, a tick forming in his shoulder, "In ancient Chinese dialect."

"Oh-right-yeah-well, of course I should have known that," the female doctor teased. The profiler watched the exchange with avid interest, wondering when he'd finally lose it. Between the loud noises from the kitchen, the annoying theme music, and Sarah's curiosity it wouldn't be long till a hilarious mantrum ensued. Something Ollie shouldn't find entertaining but when she got bored she'd resort to bad outlets, plus it was fun to irk the man. She always was one that like to prod things with sticks.

Speaking of which, Sarah grabbed the evidence bag containing a photo Dimmock had returned from the museum. Sherlock noticed and stared up at the woman in disbelief. Ollie almost laughed at his slightly horrified face. "So these numbers," John's date examined the Hang Zhou, "It's a cipher?"

"Exactly," he snarkly quipped, brushing her off, annoyed more than ever by her interruptions. She paused musing out loud again, "And each pair of numbers is a word."

He was just about to direct a scathing remark and a few cold bitting deductions at the woman when it finally register what had been said. The only useful thing to come from her mouth all night. "How did you know?"

"Well, two words are translated, here," Sarah set the image down and pointed to the first two numbers. The last words written by a dead woman. He jolted out of his chair, "John. Olivia. Look at this."

Both people moved from where they were to crowd around the partially translated clue. "Soo Lin, at the museum, she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it," he canted his head towards the profiler, "How did you not notice."

"A little busy at the time," Ollie stated shutting her phone. Sherlock chewed on the words as if it would magically make the others appear, "Nine Mill..."

"Does that mean millions,"John asked. The gears in the consulting detectives head began to churn, eyes moving across unseen information, "Nine million quid, for what?"

What ever the answer was he wouldn't receive them there. Suddenly he folded the picture up with a loud rustle and grabbed his winter garments, quickly slipping them on, "I need to know the end of this sentence."

"Where are you going," John watched confused. "To the Museum. The Restoration Office," Sherlock shook the paper at him, voice rising with excitement, "We must have been staring at it."

"A-at what?"

He looked over at his friend like he was the most imbecile human being on the planet, not getting how couldn't keep up when it was so glaringly obvious. "The book, John! The book. The key to cracking the cipher! Soo Lin used it to do this," he waved the picture, "Whilst we were running round the gallery, she started to translate the code. Olivia, how could you miss that! It must be on her desk!"

With that said he rushed out of the flat in a swirl of coats and scarfs billowing after. Ollie watched him leave and a dark feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Gingerly she sat down at the desk, to anyone paying attention she looked lost, but inside she was screaming at her own blindness. _He's right, how could I not have noticed, she was right there!_

The two doctor's, oblivious to her inner turmoil, looked at each other, neither really knowing what to make of his declaration. Should they follow after or leave him be? John, ever the optimist, decided on the latter and disappeared into the kitchen in hopes of still salvaging his evening. "Is it alright if we stayed in," he asked. Sarah smiled playfully and followed after him, "Yeah, no absolutely. Well, a quiet night in is-is really just what the Doctor ordered. Ah, I mean-I love going out for an evening and wrestling a few Chinese gangsters, you know generally. But a girl can get too much."

John smiled, glad she was finding the humor in the nights events and sticking around. Finally remembering what he had initially gone in there for he walked over to the counter, "Um, should we go takeaway?"

"Yeah."

"Ollie, does that sound fine to you or will you be calling it a night," He asked, hoping she would get the hint and not chose the former. When he received no answer he shot Sarah a slightly worried look. John walked into the door way to find her staring at thin air. "Ollie?"

"Huh," blinking she twisted in the chair to answer, "Oh yes, whatever's fine with me."

Abruptly standing up, she walked over to the fireplace and examined the evidence above the mantel piece, not really hearing John's slightly disappointed ok. Holding her chin in thought, she tapped a finger to her lips going back to the museum, traveling back though her memory, examining every book she had seen.

She started with Soo Lin's desk first but found nothing. So she moved on to a surrounding one, skimming through particulars, _Old England: A Pictorial Museum, _No that wasn't it. Underneath that was a _Webster's Dictionary, _but that had already been ruled out. She could keep delving through but none were books everybody would own. _Wait, _the profiler stilled, _What was she doing in the room allocated for rare un-catalogued items. She was putting something to paper. _Ollie's eyes widen. _That's it! _Surging fourth, back to that time, she tried to make out the details in the dark of that room.

A sliver of light partially exposed the item Soo Lin was scribbling on, revealing a slice of the tramway graffiti. But the book, where was it? She could clearly make out that the woman had something else in her hand, but from where the profiler had been positioned, Soo Lin was blocking her view.

Ollie bit her lip in frustration, tapping a faster tempo with her finger. There had to be some way. If she could just make out a tiny bit...then, as her eyes had shifted with the gunfire being heard, her line of sight had past a mirror on the opposite side of the room. One that's positioned fell onto her blind spot. Rewinding she tried to make out any outstanding particulars, something that would be helpful. Yet, as it was looking hopeless, by a chance of luck, Soo Lin had dropped it during the first few shots. That's when she caught it in the reflection, it was only four letters, but it was all she needed. _A to Z. _The colors and type were unmistakable. It was a book she had seen before, one she had familiarized herself with upon arriving in London to stay up to date.

In a flourish of action she raced to the other side of the room and rummaged through one of Lukis's boxes. Throwing book after book behind her till she had what was desired, there at the bottom of the bin was the answer they had been searching for. Right under there noses. Ollie had seen it, not in that box of course, no she had seen it stacked near the other books at the second decedents apartment. Reason stated it'd be loaded with them, though the arrangement differed due to the officers hurried packing. Logic that held true.

Ripping the pages open, she flipped to the first two numbers and skimmed a delicate finger over the words. 'Nine Elms Lane' then 'Mill Hill', the translation being the first of every address. The profiler was so busy skimming through, so focused, she didn't even hear the knocking at the door or acknowledged John as he walked past her to answer it.

Fore Street, Jade Close, Pin Street, Dragon Road, Den Close, Black Acre Close, and Tramway Avenue, she found each right after the other. Put it all together and she got_ Nine Mill Fore Jade Pin. Dragon Den, Black Tramway. _Ollie held the book into the air and let out a bark of laughter, barely able to contain her excitement. Knocking over a pile in her elation she skidded into the kitchen, "John!"

Sarah looked up at her from the table slightly surprised and confused at the other woman's exuberance. Her mouth fished open for a second as she figured out how to respond to the outburst. She pointed back once the profiler had came, "You just missed him, he went to grab the takeaway at the door."

"Right, be right back then," Ollie stated, dashing back into the parlor and out the door. So pumped with the high of cracking a case, and figuring it out before Sherlock, that she didn't even notice her injuries as she jumped four or five steps at a time. To hurried to bother. "Hey! I figured it out! The book, god it was so simple how could we miss it! A book everyone uses, you wouldn't even think it odd if they read it on the street, it's the-," Her words came to a crawl as she skidded to a halt in the foyer, book raised in the air. _London A to Z_ in clear sight. She swallowed the rest of her sentence.

At the opened doorway stood none other than the spider, an unconscious John behind him being passed to a male associate from the theatre. Ollie immediately went for her gun when the man, handling the doctor, pulled a knife to his exposed throat, "Move and I cut. Who do you think faster, you or me?"

The female consultant froze at the broken english, fingers twitching. Zhi Zhu, who had kept quiet at each encounter spoke up, motioning to the wall with his head, "Hands flat above your head, face the wall, spread your legs, and no moving. Move and he'll kill him."

No, he wouldn't, else they'd have no use to knock him unconscious and drag him away, they need him for something. Question was, did they need her and was she willing to try and test her theory and draw her weapon? Could she risk losing another one, add another face to haunt her waking hours, invade her dreams, and stain her mind. No, no she couldn't take that chance. Couldn't play that game. Never again. Gritting her teeth she begrudgingly obliged.

The minute the profiler faced the wall he slammed her against it with his chest, kicking his feet into hers to keep them apart, leaving no personal space between them as he patted her arms, searching downwards. When he got to the arm pits he pushed his hands forward then dove to her belly to get underneath the hem of her turtle neck, a place he wouldn't have check had he not seen her use it before. It took all her will power not to shrink away from his cold flesh as he shot his spindly calloused fingers into her bra, emptying it of all her wares. Each item clattered to the floor: her gun,_ THE _emergency cell phone, Sherlock's nicotine patches, some money, twelve bullets, a lock pick set, a credit card (not hers), various fake ID's, and a Jamaican certificate of diplomatic immunity—how and why she had that was a story for another day. Continuing down the spider felt the sides of her leg, removing the two knifes she had strapped on either side by her shoes. Next was the other side working up to her inner thigh, much to her displeasure, since Ollie had one more knife hidden away. His hand grazed the hiding place and so the other snaked it's way around her front, diving into her jeans to retrieve it. She growled but didn't move. If Ollie were any other woman she'd mistake the man's overzealous inspection as something sexual, but from his ridged stance behind her, even breathing, and biting nails, it was just business and intelligent caution.

A floor board creaking broke the intense air only, however, to further inflame it. Everyone spun their head to the staircase. Sarah watched from the top step glued to the spot. "Sarah, run," Ollies voice ground out in the poised silence. The brunettes eyes widened as she spun around to careen up the stairwell. Another man brushed past and gave chase. The profiler never witnessed what occurred next though, as a hand stabbed into a pressure point near her shoulder. Pain blossomed and bloomed for a short moment before the world was overtaken by sudden darkness.

* * *

Water dripped somewhere in the distance, echoing as it splashed against a hard surface. The smell of damp stagnant air, the ting of oil and a sharp metallic singe encompassed the area. Groggily, Ollie woke up to the sounds of quietly muffled crying, a crackling fire and Chinese chattering, though she didn't pry open her eyes. Nor did she alter her breathing pattern, fixing it as she became aware. Needn't play her hand so soon, let them continue to think she was still out. She had to plan and buy time. Currently the Tong had the advantage as she could clearly feel the scratchy binds biting into her flesh, strapping her to a chair, and the dirty gag shoved in her mouth. It was also likely John too was tied as well as Sarah, who would be the only explanation for the crying. Deducing as much information about the situation was pertinent in evening the power and making it out alive.

Straining an ear the female consultant eavesdropped on the conversation taking place behind her, a woman, the voice she linked to the female performer, spoke in hushed tones to someone. "-Wǒ kàn dàole yīgè yǒuyì de jīhuì, suǒyǐ bǎ tā. Wǒ xiǎng nǐ huì hěn gāoxìng._ (I saw a beneficial opportunity and so took it. I thought you would be pleased)_."

Ollie began to go to work, examining all the possibilities for how the smugglers could benefit from kidnapping John—as the women were not the initial target, Zhi Zhu had been too surprised to see her. A male responded, "Bùyào yǐwéi zhīdào wǒ xiǎng shénme, yǒngyuǎn. Nǐ de lǎnduò yǐjīng bǎ wǒmen suǒyǒu chǔyú wéixiǎn zhī zhōng. Bùyào wàngle, nǐ kěyǐ gēnghuàn. (_Do not presume to know what I think, ever. Your laziness has put us all in jeopardy. Never forget, you can be replaced_)_."_

"Yuánliàng wǒ, dànshì yǐjīng kāishǐ de qìshuì. (_Forgive me, but the deed has already been started_.)"

"Bùyào xiǎo kàn tā. (_Do not underestimate him_,)" the man warned. The woman chuckled shuffling toward something, "Bùyào xiǎo kàn wǒmen. Wǒmen bǔhuò fú'ěrmósī xiānshēng, tā de nǚ péngyǒu hé nǚxìng bànlǚ. (_Do not underestimate us. We have captured Mister Holmes, his girlfriend and female partner._)"

"Zhèngmíng zhè yīdiǎn. Gěi wǒ fāsòng tú xiàng. (_Prove it. Send me an image_)."

The snapping of a camera phone resounded through where ever they were being held. Yet, something didn't add up. If the boss was there why the need for a picture...unless. Of course, they were speaking through text and someone was dictating them to the woman. But Ollie needed to be a hundred percent sure. Quickly opening her eyes she peered up just in time to catch the other male associate looking down at a phone, scanning the screen. "Nǐ zuò nǐ de xǔkě. (_You have permission to do as you please_.)"

In the low light of the tunnel, illuminated by barrel fires and candles placed around them, Ollie could only pin point three people. It was a skeleton crew at bset and that made things a bit more worrisome. One, not a single person wore a mask, meaning they didn't intend to let them live, so the precaution wasn't needed. Two, fewer people meant torture and execution because lets face it, in organized crime you don't bring the whole crew to interrogate one person, it leads to too much distraction. Three, the only female member, now dressed in leather with those ridiculous dark sunglasses, moved to cover the large crossbow used in the first circus act. It became increasingly likely things wouldn't pan out well unless Sherlock came to the same conclusion she had soon after their abduction. A loud noise echoing from afar told her the tunnel was one in a forgotten network in the London underground, connected to the subways. It stood to reason it was the black tramway as it was likely their hideout as the authorities searched for them. A place the consulting detective could find provided he decrypted the cipher in time.

John groaned from beside her so sunglasses ripped the cell from the other man and shoved it into her coat. All gang members turned to face their victims as the woman made sure to stand forward and apart from the others. A tell stating she was among upper management, thus in some form of power. Which was why only she addressed the waking army doctor, "A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket."

She folded her arms behind her back and strode forward, only stopping once in front of him. She removed the useless glasses off her face, "Chinese proverb Mister Holmes."

"Wha-uh I'm not Sherlock Holmes," he stutter with quiet shock. She smiled as if something he said was funny. Reaching forward she rummaged through his top coat pocket. "Forgive me if I do not take you're word for it."

She pulled out his wallet and opened it. Smirking she proceeded to read the items inside, "Debit card, name of S. Holmes."

"Yes, uh that's not actually mine. He leant that to me…"

Riffling through a slot she pulled out a check, once again reading the name, "And a check for five thousand pounds. Made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

John's shoulders sagged as he weakly explained the truth. "He asked me to-to ah look after that for him…," he closed his eyes, that sounded like a lie even to himself. The woman seemed to think so as well. Even more so when she pulled out the ticket stubs from earlier, "Tickets, collected from the theatre by you, name of Holmes."

"Yes. OK. I realize what this looks, but I'm not...him."

She smiled with disbelief, finding satisfaction in foiling what she believed was him trying to be clever. "We heard it from your own mouth."

"What?"

Ollie gave a disingenuous laugh into her gag. Of course, their situation had to be due with mistaken identity by some freak string of events. John had the worst luck and he knew it, it was painted all over his face. The female smuggler mocked him, "I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone…"

"Oh. Did I really say that? I s'pose," he looked down and shook his head weakly, "there's no point in persuading you it was only an impression…" he freaked out, trailing off as a gun was shoved into his face. With loud puffs of air he tried to remain calm and turned his gaze anywhere but the gun. Except what she said next gave him pause. "I am Shan."

Ollie and John's eyes widened at the omission. Only, from what the profiler had heard, who was bossing around the leader of the Tong? Who would elicit that sort of authority? Before any more thought could be put towards the puzzle piece that didn't fit, Shan raised her weapon to Johns temple. Ollie's heart practically stopped. Her only thoughts of having to witness the brains of someone she had started to trust splattering next her. In the weakened inner panic, unbridled memories sprung fourth from her vault, anything involving a gun to someone else's face took over. In that one second she relieved each of them. Every smell, every feeling elicited, every gory detail moving before her eyes it was almost to much to handle. It was on the precipice of a sensory overload she hadn't experienced since her youth, when she had little control over her cognitive abilities. A condition shared with many of whom had her little biological fluke.

Shan cocked the gun, "Three times we've tried to kill you and your companions Mr. Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?"

John squeezed his eyes shut, futility trying to move away, as both Sarah and Ollie held their collective breaths. Shan pulled the trigger. The only sound the click of an empty chamber. "It tells you they're not really trying."

Before anyone could relax she pulled out a full clip and loaded it, returning the weapon back to it's previous position. "Not light on bullets now. If we really wanted to kill you Mr. Holmes we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive...Do you have it?"

"Do I have what?"

"The treasure?"

"I don't know what your talking about."

"I would prefer to make certain," she declared loudly, her voice traveled down the dark stone tunnel. Shan walked over to the covered crossbow as Ollie began to regain her composure, the realization of what the woman planned began to dawn on her. They only needed to confirm if John knew where the treasure lay hidden, thus both _companions _made it onto the expendable list. After they got nothing, and both women were dead, John would then be dispatched of after torture had proved useless. Shan turned to face her captives, standing next to the shrouded device. One of her men pulled the black cloth. "Everything in the West has it's price. And the price for her life," she pointed to Sarah, "information. Yet we find ourselves with two lovely items. The added bonus of your partner."

The end of her sentence was the cue for her men to pick up both chairs and line them one in front of the other before the crossbow. Sarah struggled and shouted into her gag as they placed her down in front. Ollie however, despite her cracked psyche, remained unnaturally calm. The act it's self unnerved the man that carried her.

"Where's the hair pin," Shan demanded. John blinked, "What?"

"The empress pin, valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the west and then one of our people was greedy, he took it! Brought it back to London and you Mister Holmes have been searching for it," she growled, glaring down at him. John looked up pleadingly, begging her, "Please, please listen to me. I-I'm not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me I haven't found what ever it is you're looking for."

Frustrated, her impatience growing with his _act, _she turned to the woman behind her with mocked theatrics, as if addressing an imaginary crowd, "I need a volunteer from the audience."

The doctor wrestled to free himself, "N-no no please. Please."

Shan walked over to the sand bag teetering above, "Ah, thank you ladies. Yes, you'll do very nicely."

Sarah cried out and struggled against her bonds, the intimate knowledge of how this act went spurred her to become more frantic. Shan pulled out a knife and stabbed the bag. Sand poured out as she continued to role play, "Ladies and gentleman, from the distant moonlit shores of NW1 we present, for your pleasure, Sherlock Holmes' pretty companions in a death-defying act."

Finally focused, as imminent death tended to do so, Ollie knew what needed to be done. It had to be timed properly, but would only buy a small window of safety. When the ball was a few seconds from triggering the arrow all she had to do was tip the chair and fall to the ground out of the way. The hard part would be kicking out Sarah's with only her feet. There would be no room for error. It all came down to precision.

Shan placed an origami black Lotus on both women's lap with fake disappointment, taunting them, "You've seen the act before, how dull for you. You know how it ends."

John shouted, desperate for her to realize the truth, "I'm not Sherlock Holmes!"

"I don't believe you."

"You should you know," a deep familiar voice called out from the inky shadows, bouncing from wall to wall. A tall figure stood silhouetted in the distance, "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him. How would you describe me John?!"

The black lotus general and her cohorts spun to face him, she lifted her gun as one of her men ran to apprehend the interloper. Ollie's head almost lolled back in relief. She was begin to think she'd die there in the cold and the dark, an ocean away from home, her personal vendetta unpaid. "Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"

_An ass who should have been here ten minutes ago, _the profiler mentally finished. "Late," John choked with emotion. Sherlock's outline disappeared behind a large crate, "That's a semi-automatic, you fire it the bullet will travel a little over a thousand meters per second."

Shan cocked her gun scanning the darkness for Sherlock, "well?"

"Well-," Sherlock leapt from his hiding place to bring a lead pipe down over the head of the man who stalked into the darkness after him. The gang member crumpled to the ground. "-The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss then the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce of the tunnel and hit you," His voice jumped around and Shan squinted trying to find her target, gun moving back and forth in her search. Sherlock emerged for only a second to kick over one of the barrels, extinguishing the fire and cascading more of the small area into shadows. Her weapon wavered as too did her earlier confidence. Weighing the possibilities she quietly slipped off, not taking the chance of getting caught.

A hand found it's way to Ollie's bound feet and then another, tugging at the knot, loosening it. She needn't look to know who it was, though she wished Sherlock had unfastened her hands instead, especially as Zhi Zhu chose that moment to notice the other consultant. Before he realized the other man was behind him Zhi Zhu wrapped a red silk cloth around his throat and proceeded to garrote him, spinning more and more of the cloth around his neck almost like a real spider. Yet as that continued so to did the ball lower to the trigger.

John attempted to walk with his way over to the contraption, seeing Sherlock was occupied, by leaning forward and shuffling, straining not to fall face first he labored on still tied. Unfortunately what he was trying not to accomplished happened as his weight shifted and he fell. Sarah watched the ball lower faster and fast, tears streaking down her face. Sherlock still continued to struggle with the man behind him. Time was beginning running out. So, Ollie, implemented her initial plan, began to shake her chair back and fourth till momentum caused her to tip. Leaning her body with the gravity she smacked into the hard dirt, a load moan of pain erupted behind her gag. _Fuck! _Her ribs screamed at her for the abuse but pushed past it, kicking her leg out to knock Sarah down, she fell left. At which, that precise moment, John used the same method and shot his foot to turn the device away from where Sarah had been. It was right then the trigger went off and sent the arrow hurtling. A sick crunch accompanied a choked noise and echoed alone as the struggle behind the women ended. A body collapsed.

Ollie stiffened. Was it Sherlock or was it Zhi Zhu that crumpled to the floor? Who had died? Quickly she twisted her head back, not able to stand the uncertainty. To her relief the consulting detective coughed behind her lumbering forward as he untangled the red silk from around him, letting it fall away. He moved to finished untying her binds, freeing her hands before removing the gag. "It's alright," he assured hefting her up onto her feet. As she turned to face him he expected a tear stained face or some sort of female theatrics but instead she was the picture of normalcy. Like nothing life threatening had just occurred. Ollie smiled as the light of the candles danced across her, weaving intricate shadows and played with the mess of her hair. For a moment Sherlock had no inkling of how to respond or what to say, a first for him, it was like some strange poison had paralyzed his brain at the sight of those pink lips curling and dimpling her cheeks. Yet that moment was short lived as her features then scrunched with annoyance and she smacked his arm, "You should have untied my hands you idjot! I could have helped. Though I thank you for _finally_ figuring out the cypher. I was slightly worried you wouldn't."

He cocked an eyebrow, "Only slightly."

She shrugged weaving around him to go and untie John, "I had the utmost faith in your abilities."

"So you had no plan," he sniped, bending down to release Sarah. Ollie pout, "Oh shut up, I was working on it."

Removing the gag, the female doctor began to hyperventilate and cry, the sound clutching at the other doctor's heartstrings. The profiler released John's hands and he massaged his wrists as she ripped off the rope circling his legs. He looked over to his traumatized date and gave her a lopsided grin, "Don't worry, next date won't be like this."

She choked on a laugh as she continued to sob, trying to smile at his humor, his attempt at lightening her spirit. John got up and walked over to her, lifting her off the floor to pull her into a hug. Wrapping her arms around the man like a life line, she buried her head into his chest as he made soothing noises. While they had their domestic, Sherlock noticed the absence of the Shan. His fist clenched. She got away.

* * *

As the group left the tunnel and entered the London night once more, they were greeted by the police cars crowding the tunnel entrance. Some paramedics tried to get Ollie to leave with them, coincidentally the same ones as before, but she stead fast refused. Even more so when they tried to wrap a shock blanket around her, one Sarah was more than willing to accept. Though Sherlock did try to get her to go in his own roundabout way. By that he jabbed her side again, or would have had she not seen it coming and dodged it to punched him in the gut. It wasn't I'm-going-to-need-ace-bandages-hard but it was double-over-in-pain-need-air-hard. He was fine once he breathed through it, though he sent her the most scathing glare. Apparently it was ok for him to hurt her but not the other way around or maybe it had to do with the couple of cops chuckling under their breaths when they had witnessed it, either way he was slightly cross with her. Not that she cared.

As their feet clopped against the wet pavement, the scent of fresh rain washing away the smell of sweat and fear, Dimmock popped out of his squad car and stood stoically as the odd group advanced his way. John, seeing the DI, quietly informed his roommate that he'd be staying at Sarah's for the night. Ollie could tell he took issue with the idea but he graciously refrained from saying so. Probably why John curled an arm around his lady and led her away as they reached the DI, desperate to get away before the male consultant could no longer refrain from speaking his mind and ruined things futher.

"We'll just slip off, no need to mention this in your report," Sherlock informed Dimmock, who tensed with frustration. The profiler didn't stick around to hear how he responded though.

Ollie shoved her hands into her ripped jeans and jogged up to the road, her breath condensing into white puffs of air from the cold. It felt nice, soothing to her swelling injuries. It picked up where the rush of adrenaline left off. As she stopped and waited at the edge of the sidewalk, trying to flag down a cab, her mind wandered in the mundane moment. With no more immediate danger it had time to fully go over information that didn't add up. Like the strange phone conversation. Who was Shan talking to and why did they have such authority as to how their business was handled? It was a question that desperately needed an answer. One that kept insisting on pushing the issue.

She squinted her eyes at the passing traffic, lights of red and yellows zoomed by in an unfocused blur, her hand no longer in the air to wave down a ride, as she tried to solve some invisible puzzle only seen before her eyes. Yet as she thought of statistics, political affairs, crimes, and economic factors the only thing her mind went back to was something Sherlock had said in passing. _Exit visa's are scarce in China. _A truth that held bigger implications. Now getting people in was easy, if you knew where to find the right security flaws and who to bribe, but out was a bit more difficult, especially if you were a native, yet not impossible if it were only one person. Except the tong had come in large numbers, she had seen many at the theatre, and Shan was on INTERPOL's watch—her need for glasses even in the dark gave light to that tidbit. So reason stated money and power would be involved in an operation that difficult to pull off. There was only one organization she knew to have such influence but she didn't want to jump to conclusions, not till she had found exactly how they had entered the country. Then and only then would she deem wether or not it belonged in her crime web.

A screeching whistle thrust her out of her head and back to awareness. Clutching her left ear she turned to glare at the consulting detective, who appeared like a ghost at her side, with venom having broken her concentration. A cab stopped in front of them. He opened the door and hopped in. Ollie slid after him before he could tell the driver where to go, not trusting him to invite her along. He'd more likely go home and leave her there, even if he knew that's where she was headed as well. He leaned towards the sliding cab window, "221 Baker Street."

The cabbie nodded his head and pulled into traffic. Ollie turned away, leaning her head against the side window, to stare at the world that melted into dark contrasting colors as it past. "My nicotine patches."

Ollie flicked her eyes over to the consultant and hummed, "What about them."

Pulling out said items from his coat, he held them in the air between two gloved fingers. "They were in an odd place."

"Well, you should take care of where you put your things then," Ollie yawned sliding back into the car seat. His brow twitched as he continued, "Yes, but these were originally in my sox drawer. When I found them today, they were in an intriguing assortment of items laying upon the foyer floor. Items that belonged to you."

Ollie shot him a glare not denying the accusation, she saw no reason. He knew what her gun looked like. "Guess now I know why you were late."

"It was a lot of items. Even some concealed weapons."

"Yeah, well, I was searched pretty thoroughly," She over-dramatically brought the back of her hand to her forehead, "Now I'll never be able to marry!"

He stared at her nonplussed by the action, though slightly irritated by her diversionary tactics, "Sarcasm is the lowest form of whit," he stated. "And yet it's what I chose to fight you with. What does that say I think about your intelligence then. Hmm?"

When his face subtly hardened she sighed and slumped further into the seat, "Sorry. I tend to become...mean when I'm in pain. But I can already see where this conversation is going and I'm not going to fill in all the blanks to the secret that is my life. Not that it will stop you."

As predicted he kept on, those sharp blues scrutinizing every pore and hair of her being. "Interestingly enough on the mobile, that isn't you're preferred burner, there was only one number. Only one contact," he gazed at her dubiously, "The Devil."

The profiler didn't even flinch. She just stared forward as calm as could be, even if on the inside she prayed he didn't call that number. She didn't want to have to deal with that man, though he probably already knew where she was by now. "You didn't call him I hope. I'd only do that if you plan to selling your soul."

"And if I were, who would I get?"

She scoffed, readjusting herself in the seat, "Can't you read. You'd get the devil, suit and all. Don't know about the pitch fork though."

"Are you going to answer me seriously."

"Would you enjoy it if it were that easy," Ollie asked. The slight upward quirk of his lips was all the answer she needed. No he wouldn't, Sherlock required the challenge, just as much as she required the occasional distraction to keep her sanity when information came to a crawl. Some people would say they're cut from the same cloth since they're so similar, but she'd strongly disagree. While they share some commonalities they were not the same. Sherlock would be cut from a deep royal purple and Ollie would be of the same tone, but she would not be the same value. The profiler was more of a deep yellow. His complimentary color.

Then an odd but not unforeseen question was asked, "You have diplomatic immunity?"

She attempted not to smile at the that, as the story of how she acquired the item was an amusing tale. She lifted a delicate eyebrow, "I don't always ask my clients for money, Sherlock. Not if they have something much more desirable."

* * *

The door to 221 Baker Street slammed shut with a loud resounding noise, shaking the frame. Sherlock stomped up the staircase to his flat leaving the ex-profiler standing by the door. She sighed holding her hand. He had been sufficiently warned. It was his own fault if he hadn't listened. A door creaked open and Mrs. Hudson popped her head out, her eyes widened upon seeing her female tenant before coming out, the open door behind her let the smell of sweet baked goods waft into the foyer. "Oh my, did you and Sherlock have a row?"

Ollie watched the stairs and waited till she heard another door slam shut before answering the concerned woman. "I may have hit him in the, oh what's the British vernacular for it, gob, yes his gob when we were fighting in the back of a cab. I won't get into the particulars, but I got my stuff back," she cocked her head towards her landlady, "You wouldn't happen to have any pain killers would you?"

"Oh, I can't believe you two. Roughhousing in the back of a cab," she waved Ollie over and she stepped back into her flat, "Come on dear I'll get something for that hand, but more importantly you have guests. I hope you don't mind, I've been entertaining them while they waited for your return. They have the most interesting stories about you."

The female consultant tensed. She wasn't expecting guests. Ever. So who would be visiting. Fearing that who ever was in Mrs. Hudson's apartment may be to cause harm Ollie pulled out her mini pistol, hiding it in her palm. Cautiously she advanced into the cozy country styled flat, weapon concealed but poised. However all breath left when her eyes fell onto the two people sitting on the floral patterned sofa in the nick-knack covered parlor.

Ollies mouth fished open as she tried to form a sentence, any sentence. Mrs. Hudson, ever oblivious, twitter on as she made her way into the kitchen, "Also, now that I have you, Sherlock left something in my care that belongs to you. I've been meaning to get it to you but you've all been rather busy and I didn't want to intrude like last time."

The tall well muscled man and plus sized woman stood up gazing at her with a mixture of fondness, pity, curiosity, and relief. The man, his skin a lovely shade of mocha, his head shiny and shaved, wore a tight pair of dungarees and a black Armani coat. His female compatriot, her blonde hair lacking in any quirky streaks of pink colors but exceeded with funky colored ribbons tied into her curly pigtails, dressed in a touristy shirt emblazoned with _I Love London,_ paired with a cute plaid blue mini jacket and skinny jeans. Out of all the people she could've imagined waiting in Mrs. Hudson's parlor she never would have pictured it to be those two people. Two people she used to know.

By some miracle she managed to appear professional and distant. Ollie looked at the two and nodded her head, all emotion draining from her face, "S.A. Garcia. S.S.A. Morgan. To what do I owe the visit?"

* * *

This was 24 pages long which is why it took so long cause the blind banker needed to be over with. It was running to long :P Now starts the original in-between episodes. I'm gonna put a list bellow to drive up your suspense :D

NEXT EPISODE/STORY TITLE: The Secret Admirer

The others [are subject to change if things take to long]:

THAT RAT BASTARD

THE TRAVELING GINGER BREADMAN

JUST ANOTHER DEADBEAT

SCAVENGER HUNT FOR PSYCHOPATHS


	14. TSA: Unexpected Visitors

**__****Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A_nd sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

**Midnight Angel414: **_Then you no longer have to wait, tis here. I always wanted to see Criminal minds and Sherlock crossover, specifically on TV, but one can only dream i suppose...or write about it :D Anyway I love reading your story, I always enjoy seeing it in my inbox as well. :)_

**Bored411: **_Well i hope to continue to get him down pat, Sherlock can be complex and I'm always afraid of making him Oc when responding to Ollie. As he can't be to nice but can't be too mean, but still be indifferent to everything while unaware in developing feelings. And as for the last in-between story I hope it's as good as you think it will be when I get to it. Hopefully it doesn't take me to long to write this one though :)_

**LoLoLaLoco: **_I had hoped people would like that bit. Glad that you did. And as for the grammar and errors, I believe I've taken care of them, thanks for pointing it out. I've done a total re-haul of the story to fix those issues, which is why it took me so long to update. But now that it's done before I update I'm going to re-read past chapters to make sure it doesn't take me so long again. As for the theirs and there. I know how to use them, but when I'm writing I move so fast as to get my thoughts down, before the disappear into the ether of my mind and are never heard form again, so I don't notice when I've made a mistake. Sometimes my thoughts are going so fast when typing that I skip over words because in my head it's already there. But I'm glad you pointed it out or else I never would have noticed. Enough people said something that I finally re-edited :) thanks_

**Gwilwillith: **_THX! Hope you'll like this new one, lots more to discover coming soon :D_

**Hangwan000: **_LOL, sorry for making you late. Now my doctor fic I'll be updating soon hopefully either after or before i update this one. _

**SarcasticRaven: **_I'm surprised there aren't that many Sherlock Criminal mind crossovers, you'd think there would be. They're perfect for each other :) I hope you'll like this case :)_

**Guest: **_Good to know you don't think she's just a reflection. I always worry. :D_

**KatieTheBaka: **_OoOoOoO :P love your ID. Always loved cat ears :)_

**Guest: **_Then your more is here :)_

**Misplaced Levity: **_Glad you enjoyed it, I try to make things interesting, hope you like the next one as well._

**Guest: **_thanks for fixing the odd numbers :) for a while on one of my others it was a naughty number, lol. Thanks for the copious amount of reviews, you're awesome :) As for season two, I do have some interesting plans for Irene. Oh the things i have plan :D _

**Namikaze Hatake: **_Thanks for saying something, honestly I never knew as no one really ever said there was anything wrong. It's like when I'm in a crit for an online writing class and some one says there were grammar mistakes but never say's where it is that they're seeing them. I've went back and re-read/edited but most of the time I'm blind to my own mistakes unless pointed out as my mind automatically fills and fixes what's wrong that it takes me a bit to realize it's not actual there but in my head. :P I'm sorry that's it's put you off but I thank you for continuing to read the story. :) As for spellcheck I do use it but it never checks my grammar :( so again sorry._

**Mika Carrol: **_Hooray, thanks for the review. Glad you enjoyed my writing and sorry it took so long to update :)_

**AppoloniaAstria: **_ Eeeee! It's only going to get even more interesting as things develop and past relationships are learned :) more fangirling things I hope :D_

**Luna c: **_Lol, I added the BB to relate to case tittles so that it was easier to navigate through chapters if people wanted to go back or skip things :) _

**Kittie17: **_I have now written more. :) Thank you for the complements :D_

**zebra-scarf: **_No sorry not in the bathroom, but he may make an appearance latter and there well I'll let you find out as the case progresses :) As for the reaction well even I don't know that part yet. Most of the time I'm just as surpised as everyone else when I'm writing as things take life and twist and turn from how I had wanted the story to progress as I go. As for the Westwood, we'll see :)_

**kayriggins: **_Oh know, I think it may be contagious as I've had that same pattern :) Sry, no more interactions this chapter maybe next though :)_

**Dragoneisha: **_Glad they caught you're attention or else I wouldn't have this cool review._

**TheMagentaColor: **_Well, lots of original stuff coming soon. And i do try and keep it funny and interesting :)_

_Sorry if this doesn't seem like a very exciting chapter but it's setting up for the rest. Let me tell you it's a doozy, lots of plot development, and even some more enlightening things about Ollie's past? OoO IDK I guess you'll find out :) And like in criminal minds fashion there will be a quote after the killing :)_

* * *

Case: The Secret Admirer

**London,****Three days ago**

Alex Smith shuffled, sniffling as the cold nipped at his nose. He didn't do well with bitter climates, they never sat well with him and always left him with a nasty parting gift in the form of a cold. Alex much preferred the warmth of Fiji to the chill of London, but his work took him all across the world. Sometimes to places he didn't much care for, but there was a recession out there, so he took what assignments could get. Even if they were less than desirable.

Which brought him to his current locale across some college on top of the roof of an adjacent residential building, a camera hanging from around his neck. He sneezed loudly and miserably wiped his nose once more with a gloved hand. He was about to say fuck it and pack up when his phone rang. With a heavy sigh he dragged out the device from his coat and hit send. "This is Mr. Smith. What can I do yah for," he greeted as his quarry left the building. Pulling up the camera to his face he zoomed in on the person as a voiced buzzed in his ear.

"Yes, I understand, but I don't do things half assed that's why yah hired me," Alex drawled as he watched the individual through his lens scan the area with paranoia. "Look," he slightly growled, his patience short due to his discomfort, "I'll call you when the job is finished. Till then trust me, I'm just about wrapped up. I only need to check out one more avenue."

The caller scoffed in his ear, practically telling him how to do his job; upset that things didn't fit into their perfect time table. Alex almost shouted with relief when they abruptly hung up, he hated it when clients got involved. He didn't need some back seat driver whining over his shoulder. Only as he pulled the cell away from his ear did he realize something was wrong. His screen, which only a few moments ago had four bars of signal, informed him he no longer had any. Before his mind had time to come to any conclusion he found his airway being cut off by a wire. Struggling he immediately pulled at the garrote around his neck, while using the other arm to elbow his attacker repetitively only to hit a bullet proof vest, causing his joint to scream in agony. As his oxygen started to dissipate, his eyes began to bulge as his face turned a few different shades of red, he reached for a weapon, for anything that could help him fend of his attacker. But before his fingers could find purchase a syringe made it's way into his back and he fell to the wayside as the garrote slipped off.

Smacking hard against the concrete he tried to get back up and take a swing at the man looming over him, except his muscles refused to listen to the command. Panicking he tried to move, yet nothing happened. He tried to shout, yet again, nothing happened. His body, he realized, was paralyzed from whatever had been injected into him. Alex's eyes flicked to the gargantuan man above him who let a wicked smile curl around his face as he held the others attention. It only grew at the fright that shined in Smith's eyes when he caught sight of the tools peeking out of the duffle bag near the large man's feet. "Oh, you're as green as the day you suckled upon your mothers tit aren't you."

The giant leaned down and hefted him up over his shoulder like a rag doll, dragging the bag behind him. "I'm gonna need you to deliver a message for me Mister Smith," his deep baritone grumbled, "Two of them actually, and I can tell you.…," he paused smiling sadistically, "It's going to hurt."

* * *

**Present Day**

_"Your love has me trapped. I cannot move, I cannot breathe. But I don't want to be let go. Please don't ever set me free. You are my jailor, I am your slave. I am yours forever. Until I go to the grave." -Author of unknown origins_

The silence of the room was palpable. Though mostly uncomfortable and awkward. Needless to say it was not the reunion the two Quantico agents had hoped for, but it was one they should have expected. Things had not ended on a happy note between them. Olivia Knight had been forced to resign due to circumstances out of her control, and as someone with her condition it would always remain as fresh as the day it had been inflicted. Still, underneath that emotionless mask part of her wished to welcome the estranged friends with a smile. But she refrained.

It was odd in the least to see them after so long. Penelope was still a bit quirky, yet she was no longer that bright colorful creature with the crazy highlights she had once known. No, the woman before her dressed a bit more professionally; a tiny more subdued than when they had last worked together. As for Morgan, outwardly he still had the same appearance and jagger swagger that was always so popular with the ladies, but his eyes, his eyes were much harder than they once had been, there were shadows there now. The kind that came with losing to many and hard decisions that left one with little sleep in the end. Still, she supposed, to them, she must look different as well. None of the profilers, or technical analysts, in the room bore perfect resemblance to their previous younger selves. Time was a strange concept that way.

As no one really knew what to say to the other the silence persisted, save the kind natterings of Mrs. Hudson from the kitchen. "Ollie, would you like any tea dear?"

Without removing her attention from where it was firmly placed she answered, "No Mrs. Hudson. I'm fine. Just the pills thanks."

"Oh, alright. Penelope, Derek, would you care for a nice cuppa?"

The technical analyst perked up at the mention of tea. "Actually, if you've got any earl-."

Penelope never finished her sentence as Derek quickly interjected, "No thank you Mrs. Hudson. We're not staying much longer."

"Oh, that's a shame. It seems like you only just arrived."

"Well," he smiled at her as she returned with a china cup, handing off the pain killers to the consultant as she past, and resumed her spot on the sofa, "this was going to be a social call but plans changed."

Ollie picked up on the subtext, watching the subtly way Derek tensed at the word plans and how Penelope's shoulders slumped with a grim disappointment. She dry swallowed the pills quickly before flicking her eyes towards her old colleges. "How many," the ex-profiler asked, gauging their every reaction. There was only one other reason they would still visit if it wasn't for a social one. Derek crossed his beefy arms over his chest, "Twenty-five so far, spanning over five continents. The most recent was here a few days ago. Scotland Yards been keeping it out of the media thus far but it won't last long."

"No, I don't expect it will. There's a lot of loose lips that only open more with the public consumption of alcohol they'll most likely turn to to rid themselves of whatever image that gets lodged in their mind and keeps them from sleep," the female consultant surmised, not really knowing how to proceed on with the conversation other than with facts. It would seem the other two didn't really know how to either as the room fell into another quiet lull. Ollie shoved her hidden gun into the back of her jeans, tired of holding it, and shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere than the couch, "So…"

"I'm guessing you already know why we're here," Derek asked, pushing forward as he stood up. His sinewy muscles flexing with the action. "You want my help," she nodded, "but as for your previous intentions before the business of murder, no, I don't know."

Penelope's face fell slightly as her brows furrowed with a pout. "Didn't you get my letter?"

"What letter?"

Mrs. Hudson's face lightened with a realization as she set her tea cup delicately onto the saucer and placed it upon the coffee table with a clink. "Sorry deary, old age," she apologized for reasons only known to her at that moment and shuffled over to a china cabinet. Those reasons became known as she stretched up a little on her toes to grab an envelope from behind a decorative plate. "I'm afraid I may have played a part in the confusion. Sherlock dropped this off a few days ago. I've been meaning to get it to you."

Walking over she passed the envelope to the consultant who noted the over postage and the stamps of rush delivery across the crumpled paper. The return address was marked from the US and the date was from a week ago. Then there was the curvy loopy handwriting scrawled across the front in hot pink. It was definitely from Garcia. _Damn Sherlock. _Had she received her mail earlier she could have prepared for the inevitable encounter she had currently found herself entrenched in.

Ollie frowned at the parchment mumbling to herself, "Of course this is what he stole."

"Who stole what?" Morgan asked, sauntering over to peer down at the letter as Garcia collected her things readying to leave. He raised an eyebrow, finding it odd for Ollie to leave something like mail in the care of others. She was a bit to paranoid for that, just barely even trusting the mail man. She scowled as if reading his thoughts and shoved the mail into her jeans. "My upstairs neighbor. He's a bit of an intellectual dick with boundary issues."

"Really? And you two didn't get on," he lightly teased with a toothy grin. She scoffed, "Shut up, I'm perfectly agreeable. _Sherlock's_ insufferable."

"So his names Sherlock then is it."

This time Ollie really did frown, though it came across more as a petulant pout to the senior agent. Of course, as he finally took a closer look at her, he noticed a few strange details. Like for one the disarrayed hair. Then there was the matter of the dirt, though hastily rubbed off in order to clean it, was smeared on one side of her body as if she had fallen hard on the ground. Her wrists, now that he could properly see them, were raw as if she had been bound at some point and the consultant even involuntarily favored one side more than the other indicating injury. She was a quiet mess and it informed him of two things. One: she was still up to her old habits, getting into trouble per usual, and two: she hadn't found an anchor to weigh her down in the storm that was her mind. Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to help her, they needed her untempered restraint in order to catch and put away a killer before anyone else made it onto the list of the deceased. So, he stuffed down on his own personal need to fix her and put her back to the way she used to be because that woman had long since left, ever since the accident three years ago. And he just had to accept that. Trying to change that was what drove her away in the first place. He found it disheartening that it only took him three years to figure that out.

Derek Morgan gently grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, leading her out the door, "Alright fruit loop, don't get in a twist, I'm just playin'. How bout you change clothes while I call a car. Doesn't exactly spell professional if you show up looking like a mess. No matter how fine that mess is."

Ollie briefly looked down at herself before scowling once again, choosing to ignore his playful flirting, "Well now that's hardly my fault. I wasn't exactly expecting company...earlier or now."

"Whatever the case get a move on there pretty girl," he smiled with a chuckle, pulling out his cell to hit speed dial. She could have easily and steadfastly refused to work on the investigation, tell him to shove off as he made his phone call, but a distraction was just what she needed at that moment. That and access to level three security to check out her hunch between the tong and her crime web. And for that she needed to say yes to her previous colleges. Though a small part of her did just wish to rekindle the old glory days of her profiling youth. Noticing she hadn't moved Derek waved her on, to which she just rolled her eyes and walked across the foyer to the basement staircase. When she was about halfway down the steps did she realize that Garcia was following her.

She turned to the woman with a slight raise of her eyebrow, "I can dress myself you know."

"I know it's just…"

"What?"

"Well I missed you," the technical analyst confided before continuing, "I haven't heard a peep from you in almost three years and I'm afraid once this case is over that the earlier silence will set in again. So I'm not letting you out of my sight till you promise it won't happen again."

Ollie actually had the decency to look remorseful at the pain she inadvertently caused the other woman, one with whom she had been close with, from her past selfish actions. She shuffled uncomfortably before shrugging nonchalantly, as if all was well, "Alright but mind the mess. Though first I'll have to dismantle my security system. So, ya know, just wait on the stairs."

"Dismantle?"

Choosing not to divulge her query the ex-profiler made her way to the bottom and pulled off a wooden plank on the wall. Reaching into the dark opening she grabbed a large board and slipped it out of the space, then placed it parallel from her door. The technical analyst sent the other woman a look of confusion that instantly grew when Ollie pulled on a pair of thick rubber gloves from out of the hidden panel behind the wall. Seeing her curiosity the consultant off handedly explained as she pulled a key out of her bra, "I have electricity wired to the door knob as a secondary precaution. Don't worry nothing life threatening….unless of course you have a preexisting heart condition."

Sliding the key into the slot she carefully turned the door handle and opened it in an odd fashion by moving with the door, using it as a shield. Penelope jumped in surprise as a hail of darts flew out of the apartment and onto the board she had set up with a myriad of small thuds. She stared in shock for a few moments, at a loss for how to respond, so she decided to say nothing and continue to make her descent when Ollie called out, "Wait! There's one more."

Waving a quick hand in a guillotine motion one more dart went shooting across the air into the board. Poking her head around her cover she smiled up at her old friend, "Sorry, last one's on a heat sensor."

"I see you're still a bundle of crazy," Penelope softly add with a small little smile, carefully maneuvering down with her heels, "Is a battering ram going to swing down at me in _Home Alone_ fashion when I reach the bottom step?"

"No, but I like where you're going with that. Gives me a few new ideas," Ollie off handedly replied, striping out of the green turtleneck and gloves; throwing the items clear across the room to fall haphazardly on the couch. As she carefully moved around the piles of research material towards, and the now empty tranquilizers to her bedroom Garcia eyed the shambolic room in slight shock. The analyst knew that the other blonde had always been a bit of a mess, her previous home in Washington D.C. had reflected that, but her current digs was a little over the top. It left her wondering on the taller blonde's current emotional status. After all, Penelope had been frantically searching for the other woman ever since the tragic ending of her last case. All the profilers had been particularly shaken when they'd heard the outcome. Unfortunately, as events were unfolding for Ollie in Florida, the rest of the team had been preoccupied at the Angeles National Forest in California with the drowning of several men at Ridge Canyon lake. When they had finally learned about the Frankenstein case over the very public news coverage Ollie had already disappeared from radar. The only reason Penelope had found the ex-profiler was because a DI named Lestrade had lifted a fingerprint and ran it through their database a few weeks ago. So when Prentiss had invited them to London, as she took a position at INTERPOL, the technical analyst seized the opportunity to reconnect. That and she wanted to _bump_ into prince Harry.

Eye's roaming once more around the room they fell onto Ollie's wrapped torso just as she went to open her bedroom door. "Oh my god what happened!?"

The ex-profiler froze, then looked down at her injuries with a shrug, before hastily explaining. "Chinese assassin. He's been taken care of. Courtesy of my other neighbor John. So don't fret."

Worry and concern flashed across the analysts face and all the feelings that had went unheard in the past three years teetered at the tip of her tongue, begging to be spoken at last. Quickly Ollie, noticing the other woman's shift in demeanor, rushed into her room and shut the door behind her. "I'm gonna hurry and change," she shouted through the wood, adding in after thought, "Please don't move anything. I've got a system going."

Rubbing an awkward hand down her neck she inhaled a deep breath, knowing it was cowardly to run from Garcia. But she couldn't deal with the complicated emotions that the other woman would invoke by dredging up the past. She didn't need her seeing the crime web either. Moving over to the mattress on the floor she plopped down and pushed it over to reveal the floorboards underneath. Pulling up three of the planks she pulled out a box, heaving it up. It was of medium size, made of mahogany, pretty ordinary, no real interesting details on it; altogether it was nothing special. Of course, it was what was inside that was important. Quietly depositing it onto her bed she popped open the container and pulled out her old battle armor.

Throwing on the white mid-sleeve blouse and a black low cut Armani vest, she pulled out an old naval coat and ran her hands across the material. Bringing it up to her nose she smelt the fabric, relishing the slight mixture of cologne and cigars. Before any memories could jut fourth and hamper her already edgy mood she slipped on the cherished relic and began rummaged further into the box. Lifting out a pair of slightly ripped skinny jeans she kicked off her shoes to get them on. Only returning her attention back to the container once she had put the footwear back on. There was only one thing left she needed.

"So these neighbors of yours," Penelope asked through the door, stopping her for a moment with idle gossip, "do they both have sexy British accents?"

"Penelope," Ollie slightly exasperated with an eye roll and picked up a small box, replying as she opened it, "I wouldn't exactly say sexy but yes they have accents."

"Oh, come on it's just us girls here," the woman playfully reasoned, "Gimme the juicy scoop on the _blokes,_ as they say over here. Are they tall, are they handsome, do they look good in a tight suit, are they nice, do they have bodies you'd want to lick all over when they're out of the suit?"

"Penelope!?"

"What? It's just an innocent question. You know how much I love a Brit."

The ex-profiler sighed, knowing the other woman wouldn't likely drop the subject and keep pestering her about it all day. Pulling on five ornate silver rings, each with it's own sentimental story, one's she had never told, she relented. "Just give me a moment, I have a picture of each of them on my phone from when we were at a museum."

"Oh! Really!? Are you dating them separately or is this a Ménage a trois?"

It was then, that Ollie realizing her mistake to late, Garcia started to open the door. Turning around in shock and panic the consultant rushed over to stop the door from further revealing the room, blocking the other woman's view with her own body. Penelope gave her an odd confused look at her behavior, knitting her brows together. Trying to dissuade any suspicions Ollie smiled, "Sorry it's a bit of a mess in here. Just give me a sec."

Garcia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, "As opposed to out here?"

For once she didn't reply with a snarky quip. Instead she waved the other woman away, "Oh, shush! Don't make fun of me. There's a logic to the madness."

"Really?!" she added, waiting for the ex-profiler to elaborate, trying to fight off another smile.

"I don't have to explain myself," Ollie sniffed, closing the door, "Now just wait a moment. I'm almost finished."

Rushing forward she shut the box and hastily placed it back in it's hiding place, re-planking the floorboards before re-covering them once more with the mattress. Bending down, with a slight wince, she also grabbed the small pistol and letter from her discarded clothes. Placing them respectively back on her persons. Fishing out her phone she opened the door just a crack and slipped out, locking it behind her.

The analyst sent her a dubious stare, but said nothing about her odd behavior, as she'd seen the woman act weirder before. With a flick of the wrist Ollie pulled up the only photo's on her phone and handed them over the Penelope, who eagerly accepted them. She assessed the image of John first before commenting, "Well he's definitely handsome, in a cuddly bear kind of way. I bet he's romantic."

Flicking to the next one her pupils dilated and contracted as she bit her lip. Eyes practically undressing the man before her in her mind. "Now isn't he tall, dark and gorgeous. I could so lick him all over."

Ollie almost snorted a laugh imaging how Sherlock would have reacted to that statement or implementation were Garcia bold enough to do so. It would almost be worth introducing them. Almost. "Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up. He's the intellectual dick with borderline sociopathic tendencies. He'd more likely dissect you with sharp deductions than engage in coitus as he's anti-relationship."

"Aw," the analyst pouted handing the phone back, "Why are all the good ones either gay, taken, asexual, or sexy timelords that only exist on TV and in my mind."

"Because life's a bitch that never learned sharing is caring at daycare," Ollie attempted to joke putting her cell away. Her effort paid off as Garcia grinned brightly. On the precipice of say something Derek's voice suddenly called out from above, cutting her off. "Come on our ride's here."

Penelope, never one to miss out on making a sexual innuendo or comment on her chocolate Adonis, purred back, "Oo, and is this ride six foot two with rippling mocha muscles already and primed for his engine to be ignited as I shift his stick into overdrive."

He chuckled in a sultry tone, harmlessly flirting right back. "You know it gorgeous."

* * *

The black escalade quietly moved through the city, passing the sleepy London streets as the early A.M. hours waned in the darkness. The Americans examined the most recent file on the unsub as they were chauffeured to their temporary base of operations by an INTERPOL probee. As Ollie was to understand they were to join an interagency task force as hired consultants due to Emily Prentiss's new position and her close relationship with the secretary general of the organization.

Flipping through the pages she stopped at the crime scene photo's, noting the unsubs technique and use of varying tortures; each done with precision to ensure maximum pain and terror. The decedent was a mess, his fingernails had been removed with pliers as well as his teeth. Parts of him, more particularly his hands, had been amputated with a sharp instrument, the effected areas had tourniquets as to keep him alive as the gruesome ordeal had continued. The soles of his feet, one of the most sensitive parts of the body, had been flayed off while he was still alive which was indicated by the blood evidence, though that to had been strapped with a tourniquet. His neck had marks of strangulation, most likely from the first attack used to subdue him and his heart, after everything had been said and done, had been removed. As she switched over to the medical findings next to the image the M.E. had apparently found that the victim had been drugged. Paralyzed by a compound found on poisonous tree frogs in the Amazon called curare. Though the dosage wouldn't have been significant enough to knock him unconscious, so he would have been awake through the whole thing. Something that was most likely by design. Yet the injuries weren't exactly what kept her attention.

No, it was the message left behind by the killer. The one above the body and the one on it were what really spoke to her. The one written in blood contrasted with the other:

_Had we but world enough, and time,_

_This coyness, Lady, were no crime_

_Thus, though we cannot make our sun_

_Stand still, yet we will make him run._

It was the first and last stanza of a love poem by Andrew Marvell called _To his coy mistress. _An odd thing for a killer to quote, as it wasn't a particular well known poem. Now how did it contrast with the other message, the one cut into the victim's chest? Most would argue they didn't, that the _Mine _would refer to the ownership and twisted love the unsub felt towards the victim but that wasn't the case. The level of malevolence dispatched upon the deceased lent more to infliction of terror and purposeful pain than passion or dominance. It wasn't made by a lover scorned.

Ollie felt that the intended targets for each message were different, but she needed to see the other crime scenes to deuce why exactly. At that moment it was more of a hunch due to the way he wrote each note. The love poem was more relaxed and caring verses the _mine_ that was more cold and angry. Knight flicked her eyes up to Derek in the passenger seat, "You wouldn't happen to have the other files would you?"

"No," he shook his head, using the rearview mirror to see her, "We left all of that at New Scotland Yard. Emily figured if you said no all we had to do was show you the one file and you'd wouldn't refuse a second time."

Shoot, they definitely knew her well, that's for sure. It was a particularly riveting case, one she'd jump at a chance to solve, but at that moment she found it annoying they could predict her so perfectly. Predictability could cost her her life. Choosing to ignore that feeling, as she would later devise a way to rectify that problem, she went back to the case file when she noticed something odd. Odd in the sense that the man was found on the roof of Lariston apartments on Queens Gate which was hardly a stones throw away from the Huxley Building at Imperial. It wasn't something anyone else would fixate on, but she did. Especially when she read T.O.D. That's when it became unnerving. Three days ago around noon. It was the same time she had been in the area. A chill ran down her spin but she shook it off. She wasn't that factious to think the murder had something to do with her. _After all it was probably just coincidence. _But even as that thought crossed her mind she scolded herself for the frivolous notion as she didn't believe in such things. Coincidence or luck didn't exist. To believe in such invisible forces was like saying she believed in god. Foolish. No, she believed in people and facts and that was it. So the killing happened near her vicinity, big deal. Stuff like that happened all the time. But still that stupid little nagging voice in the back of her mind, the impractical one she never listened to, kept reiterating: _what if._

Regardless of any implications she saw she needed to examine all of the case file before she jumped to any stupid and rash assumptions. Closing the folder she returned her attention back to the senior special agent at hand. "I'm going to need to view the crime scene to get a better feel for this guy. I'd like to go after I've had a look at all the case file at Scotland yard that you've compiled, if that's all right."

Derek sent her a coy smirk. "We figured as much, so we had them keep the scene closed till you arrived. They only found John Doe yesterday."

"Well, the killers definitely bold I'll give him that much," Ollie commented, "He didn't wait for the cover of night, nor did he look for a secluded location to commit his crime. Instead he tortured the man smack dab in the middle of the city, right near a college, on the roof of an apartment building. At anytime someone could have gone up to grab a smoke and walked in on the act. Points to a high level of confidence on his end. Do you agree?"

Derek twisted around so that they were speaking face to face. "We'll exchange ideas once you've had time to come to your own conclusions after reviewing all the material. As you can image, Scotland yards a bit skeptical about Profilers."

She nodded her head in understanding, "I see. So you want to give them further proof that the preliminary profile you've handed them is correct by having an outside party coming to the same conclusion on their own terms. A good plan. Did Emily come up with it?"

Derek smiled and swiveled his eyes over to their resident Technical analyst. "No, that would be the lovely senorita next to you."

Garcia smiled right back, especially when he gave her a wink. "Well, I was going to have to cancel my plans to hang out so I figured why not just combine them and bring you in on the case. Two birds one stone."

"It definitely seems to have worked out that way," Ollie agreed, giving the woman her kudos. When she looked over to Derek though she noted they were within sight of the precinct. Of course, she also spotted something a little more annoying, if not challenging. She gestured towards the windshield, "You know how you said the media was in the dark. Well, it looks like they found a light switch."

Turning around the FBI agents frowned at the vision greeting them. A mass of news crews, on-lookers, and photographers crowded the entrance to the facility. Some shouting at the building. As they began to pull in Derek immediately whipped out his cell and called Emily. The line picked up instantly "Hey. There's a media mob outside, please tell me it's not for our case."

As the car stopped camera's swarmed the vehicle trying to snap pictures though the tinted windows in vain, their muffled questions drowned out by the cars sound construction. But the level of noise erupting outside was enough to let them know it was a fevered crowd. Derek's hardened face said all they needed to know about the other end of his conversation. He pinched his brow in agitation before letting go as a commotion was heard outside by officers attempting to clear them a path. "Yeah. Thanks I can see them now. We'll be right in."

He hung up and turned to the two in the back about ready to punch his seat. "Some one leaked the case."

* * *

_ More moving stuff next chapter promise_.

Sorry it took me so long but I do have a question for readers. Would you like a recap/small bullet points of things that have happened in previous chapters since I update at times very slowly and it'd be easier to remember what's happened? Like a refresher? Or would you prefer a gist list of things Sherlock has discovered in his case on Ollie to be update as things are revealed? And would you prefer I put my feedback to your reviews _{btw 21 reviews last chapter, OMG! You guys are awesome!}_ at the bottom or are they ok at the top? What do you think?


	15. TSA: All Roads Lead to Knight

**__****Disclaimer:** Any who, I don't own Sherlock (only in my dreams, lol) that is the intellectual property of BBC. Please enjoy. A_nd as always sry for any spelling just let me now if u see any._

Alright sorry it took so long, been busy, finals and all. Glad they're done. Schools over till fall :D Hooray.

**Pyra Sanada**: _Thanks for the review :) and as for Reid showing up well as I'm following the story line of Criminal minds as well he won't be walking through London anytime soon but I'm not say he won't make some form of appearance in the chapters to come as something about him will be revealed in this chapter that could be interesting :D_

**Silver Eyed Slayer**:_ Sorry it took me so long :(_

_**hangwan000**: I always assumed i wrote slow. I used to be fast but my attention span has severely diminished over the years. Hopefully I'll get that sorted someday. And thanks for the awesome complement!_**  
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**Zeroko****: **_Hopefully I can keep that standard going through out and I'm glad you find the story enjoyable. :) As for the summary part I'll be doing that from now on, but I probably won't put it up till tomorrow as I'm balls tired. I've written the same word four times now, in a row, fixed it though. :P_

flaming-amber_: Really!? You don't know how great that is to hear, sometimes when I'm writing I'm worried about having her become a mary sue in my quest for provoking a relationship between her and Sherlock. Thankfully they're to stubborn to let me write them like that, even though i'd really like to, as it would be realistic to their characters. AS for the sherlock interacting with the others wells...I'll let you find out what happens or doesn't happen just yet but there will be a my toy moment at some point in this case most definitely. :)_

_Midnight Angel414: __Sup! Hows it going. And i totally agree with you on the mystery part, you have no idea how frustrated i get writing it myself as i just would love to spill all her secrets. Unfortunately that wouldn't make for a good story :P And don't worry about your story it's fine. If it really bothers you when you're feeling up to it (as it can be tedious and take a bit) you could always do a re-write. I did that to mine though it was more in an editorial capacity. And thanks for your advice. I'll probably put a quick re-cap of things (not right now as i'm about to fall asleep on my laptop), I wish i could retain information. My mind has always bee like a sieve, retaining only information deemed relevant. Unfortunately that's tv show, art, basic life survival skills, writing, my vocabulary, and the like. Math was like the first thing to disappear after high school. :P_

_Dragoneisha: __Wait till you find out who leaked the case! Not shown in this chapter I'm afraid. :P _

_nadzuke eno mono: Oh there will be plenty of things like that but not necessarily in that order or all in this case, but things are bound to repeat themselves in some shape or form :D_

_Gwilwillith: Hope it stays interesting. Though i have a few cases that i can't wait to get to after this :D_

_bored411: You're about to find out :D_

**_Recap: _Victims tortured, hearts missing, and more than twenty spanning the world. It would appear that Ollie Knight may have come across quite the interesting case. But is there more to the messages left behind? And how will things proceed now that she's been reunited with past co-workers, Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan from the BAU. Ones she hasn't seen for three years. What about the unresolved issues between them. What exactly happened all those years ago that led to her resignation?  
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**_Enjoy_**

* * *

_Bored_. Sherlock laid on his sofa, fingers steepled over his mouth, as he practically felt his grey matter beginning to decay and stagnate. Yet his thoughts raced away like a million angry hornets with nothing to apply them to. _Bored_, _and_ _insufferably so_.

The morning had came and gone with no real excitement or productivity. Though he had, for some odd reason, maybe due to some passing fancy or the injury inflicted upon him by his brutish downstairs neighbor the previous night, visited Vancoon's secretary to inform the woman of the true value of the pin entwined in her prim tresses. He was glad John had not accompanied him on the earlier endeavor, he would have made some foolish inference that he was being kind. A quality he did not possess.

Heaving a sigh he flicked his attention over to the small telly John had insisted upon purchasing a few weeks prior at some flee market. The eyesore lay hidden under a layer of papers and files that had purposefully covered it. For a moment he considered the idea of giving in to the drivel of societal entertainment. He was about to scrap the thought, but his baser need for stimulus got the better of him. With a growl of agitation and self loathing he hefted himself from his perch and grabbed the chunky contraption, placing it on a crate of case files before plugging it into an outlet. Looking around he lumbered over towards Johns seat and callously brushed away a pile of bills on an end table to locate the remote. Grasping the device he quickly reclaimed his earlier spot, his gangly limbs hanging over the edge, and switched the screen on. The despicable thing pinged with an electric noise as it flickered and sputtered to life. The news, of all things, being the channel to automatically appear. _Droll._

Readying to change it the anchorwoman, who had a coke problem that was clearly apparent from her inflamed nostrils, sheen of sweat gleaming over her leathery skin, and slight body shake she was trying to hide, said something that caught his attention. If only for a moment. "Now this is something special folks," the woman read from the prompter, "thirty-one year old Amanda Weathersby woke up this morning to find herself eight mil richer. Apparently she'd been wearing a treasured Chinese hairpin, worn by empress Wu Zetian the only female emperor to rule China, for weeks never knowing what she had. Most relics of that reign have been destroyed so as you can imagine it's quite rare a find. When asked what she would do with the piece she said she'd hold it for auction, donating a sizable portion to charity. The Chinese government has issued-."

Sherlock stopped listening to the grating voice of the shrill woman when he heard the bouncing steps of his flatmate ascending the stairwell. As he entered the parlor he flicked his eyes over the other man, scrutinizing every detail with slight disgust. "I see you're basking in the after glow of sexual intercourse. Enjoy it while it lasts John as I don't see the relationship enduring. Especially once the adrenaline and excitement wears off and reality sets in."

"Nope, sorry," the shorter man flouted, dismissing the others cynicism, "You aren't going to ruin my good mood today Sherlock. I've got a wonderful girlfriend, who I spent a _wonderful_ evening with, who I then had a _wonderful_ meaningful chat with this morning about our future plans. Who I will be spending a _wonderful_ weekend with in the country."

The consulting detective snorted with derision at the sappy sentimentality. Thankful he was above such foolishness and didn't get swept up in the brain chemistry the general populace equated to the emotion _love. _Something that was only caused by the release of dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine as a biological response to ensure an individuals genus. Not some magical universal force the masses deemed it to be. It's why most marriages roughly lasted approximately five years as that was when early child rearing was no longer required by both parties, even if they had none. It all came down to biology.

John wandered into the kitchen choosing to ignore the other man's noise of disapproval. Opening the cabinet he pulled out the kettle and turned on the faucet, filling the container. "Would you like a cuppa Sherlock?"

The other man, who just hummed in response, didn't bother to voice an appropriate answer. Lighting the burner and setting down the kettle, John mumbled to himself as he pulled out a box of black tea from the cupboard above, "I'll take that as a yes then."

Things quieted, if only for a moment, as the drab chatter of the midday news engulfed the flat. Something John had no problem with. For a moment life felt normal for a change. No death, no assassins, no kidnappings, just his happy budding relationship and all the possibilities in the world. Except, like all things in his life, the illusion was soon shattered. Why couldn't he have a normal flatmate just for one day. Sherlock let out a loud dramatic sigh, "Bored."

"How are you bored," John asked in disbelief, "You just finished a case."

"Exactly, I just _finished_ a case Watson! Now I no longer have anything to occupy my mind."

"Well, why don't you visit the morgue and run an experiment," he offered up as an alternative. Though he didn't know why he bothered. The other man seemed to be in one of his moods and would just shoot anything he proposed down. And right on target Sherlock scoffed, "Molly's not working today."

"Well then, I don't know what to tell you. Can't you just relish in the victory? You took down a crime syndicate, deciphered their code, beat them at their own game, enjoy the win. Or should you not be able to go on like normal people, take a walk or something and find a case. Maybe catch up on the sleep you refused to take in the past few days or eat something for god sakes! Just don't sit inside and gripe about having nothing to do all week."

The army Doctor practically felt the other man's sharp reproving glare through the wall between them. If looks could kill Sally Donavon would be telling him _I told you so_. Albeit to a corpse. But lucky for him, and the universe, that just wasn't so.

"I do not gripe," the consultant bitterly stated.

"Sulk then," John teased with slight amusement as he entered the parlor to claim his chair. If the man was going to be a git then he was going to find some way to overcome it, entertainment seemed to be a good option. Of course, as he should have known, you just don't poke the panther. Especially when he's bored. Sherlocks sharp blues swiveled into his direction with a cold emptiness that had the hairs on the back of the shorter mans neck standing on end. The moment he opened those cupid bowed lips the doctor instantly regretted his earlier jest. "Would you like to know why your relationship is doomed? Quite simple really. Sarah, who has an obsessive need to fit in, that must be liked by everyone, has to constantly be reassured of the love you feel for her due to witnessing the _many _string of failing relationships of her mother growing up. Her constant neediness, that at first you believe is a cute quirk, will metamorphose into a tiring endeavor. And as your assurances become less and less due to one, thinking you've reached that comfortable stage where they are thankfully no longer necessary and two, not having the energy to keep up the new boyfriend airs every man uses to make themselves more desirable to attract a mate, she will begin to doubt your faithfulness. However, instead of voicing her jealousies she'll turn the feelings inward. Over time they will fester and boil and one day you will be blindside by a sudden slew of accusations and hostility that will explode at the most impromptu time when everything had appeared normal. Then there's the matter about adrenaline and excitement wearing off, which wasn't in reference to Sarah. Because we both know you will be the one to end up bored and thus unconsciously sabotage you're relationship to end it. And my having said this will inevitably lead to you force yourself to make the relationship work because you know I'm right and-."

"Enough!" John tightly gripped the arms of his chair, visibly shaking as he kept himself restrained, for fear that if he got up he'd punch the wanker and never stop. He may have just been poking a little fun, but Sherlock was purposefully cruel at best. "Congratulations," he shouted throwing his hands in the air, "You've officially killed my mood you selfish arse. Just because you have nothing to do doesn't give you the right to dissect me like some experiment! I am not you're lab rat and you have no idea what I like!"

Breathing heavily he glowered, waiting for some form of apology or remorse on the consultants part. Something he should have know was not possible within the other man's small repertoire of emotions that he would vehemently denied existed. The raven haired man's electric hues sat transfixed to the same spot they had been throughout the whole of John's rant. His penetrating gaze never left the telly as he stated his mental status, most likely never hearing a word that past the angry blonde's mouth. "I'm bored."

John growled in frustration, jabbing a violent finger towards the impersonal asocial git. "And I'm going to hit you. Won't be bored then will you!"

Sherlock was about to open his mouth with a biting retort on the other man's intelligence when a breaking news report stole his attention. The previous anchorwoman he didn't much care for, who appeared to have gotten her fix from her blown out pupils, nattered on as a window graphic portraying crime tape appeared next to her. "Now earlier this morning we brought to your attention the existence of a serial killer stalking the streets of London. One Scotland Yard has dubbed the Secret Admirer due to the nature of his crime scenes, since he leaves a love poem near his victims after he's brutally murdered them with a hatchet, cutting them into tiny pieces. We have since learned the latest victim was found near Imperial college, but he wasn't the first victim to succumb to the killer. There have been two others in the span of two months but it doesn't stop there. A reliable source has told us that he's butchered twenty-two other people, men and women, over five continents in the course of seven months!"

A video taken from the entrance of Scotland Yard overtook the screen showing a group of people fighting their way through a frenzied crowd of media vultures. The scene was loud and boisterous as the storm of people shouted questions that would only go unanswered. The anchor continued to comment off screen. "Because INTERPOL and the Yard have yet failed to catch this dastardly serial killer they've called in FBI profilers from across the pond to join the inter-agency task force and consult on the case. Our source says they're Special senior agent Derek Morgan, Technical analyst Penelope Garcia, and a third unknown party member who were seen here entering the facility, escorted by the police. They were called in by a recent INTERPOL transfer and new head of the London office Emily Prentiss, who had previously worked with the other agency. Here with us now to comment on the situation is a professor of criminology from Oxford University, Geoffrey Wimbleton."

The Army Doctor, who's anger had began to subside, peered at the screen at the mention of profilers. His eyes widened in recognition as he spotted a familiar face in the sea of reporters. "Is that Ollie on the telly?"

With a low, almost inaudible, growl Sherlock shot up to a sitting position, eyes glaring a hole into the footage. Pulling out his mobile he roughly jabbed his fingers over the keys. There he sat, bored for the last few hours, when he could have been indulging his mind on a delicious new case. One of his favorite kinds, serial killers. The American profilers were encroaching upon his territory, most especially his frustrating neighbor. They had their own serial killers to deal with in the states, this one should be his, and it would. Lestrade was soon to get an earful as to why.

"What are you doing?" John asked slightly out of curiosity and slightly out of apprehension. Somewhere in the distance the tea kettle whistled for his attention, but at that moment he was to preoccupied to detect it. To concerned about his motives. _Predictable_. Sherlock shot the man a dirty look as he listened to the dial tone. "You said to find a case. I found a case," he stated throwing back the army doctor's previous words, "also, the water is boiling out of the kettle."

John jumped out of his seat. "Shit," he exclaimed disappearing into the kitchen. A second later the annoying whistle was removed from the ambiance as the blonde shuffled around the other room. The sound of water being poured into a cup was drowned out by the insufferable Criminology professor's baseless assertions pandering to the lowest denominator. The witless general public.

"Sherlock" John called out in a chiding tone, "you can't just steal a case from Ollie. We weren't invited if you hadn't noticed."

Briefly the obstinate consultant felt the urge to roll his eyes, but he didn't give in as such an act was beneath him. "She stole it first," Sherlock drawled, though it sounded petulant to Johns ears, "I may have invited her onto our last case, but that by no means infers that I will share any future ones."

"You didn't even know the serial killer existed till a few moments ago! So how did she steal it?!"

The taller man sniffed in offense. "Continuity doesn't matter John. It's the principal."

"And what principal is that?"

He stared at the John for what felt like a long time, almost as if in dramatic pause. Though the consultant would claim he had no such character trait. "I have first dibs."

* * *

"Veritable idiots! All of them!"

Ollie Knight paced the length of the glass conference room; shouting abuse at the news coverage as it appeared on the large flat screen nailed to the wall. This had been going on for the past hour as she had long since finished reviewing the information gathered by the team. Her agitation had grown with her discomfort, due partly from the pain of her injuries and partly from the fact that she had been waiting for over two hours to procure safe passage to the recent crime scene. She growled at the witless anchorwoman. "You're making half that stuff up you cocaine snorting troglodyte! Nowhere is there evidence of a hatchet, nor does the unsub cut them into tiny pieces, and _who_ named him the secret admirer?! I mean really, that's the best you could come up with!"

Trailing off in frustration she sat down at the table in the middle of the room and let her head fall to the cool wood with an exasperated thud. Things had immediately started snowballing since they had arrived. With in several hours there was already a crowd of idiotic protester staked outside, upset that no one had warned the public of the _blood thirsty _murderer hunting the streets. Which was exactly the reason no one had said anything, as to not cause a panic till they could give an accurate profile on what to look for. Now, due to miss information and growing tension, a riot could break out at any moment and take valuable resources away from the investigation. Not to mention the overflow of _"tips"_ clogging up the lines ranging from the surprisingly popular:_ I had a psychic vision of the killing three nights ago in my dreams before it happened_ to her more favorite _he came into my room last night and ravaged me with his long thick hard-. _Needless to say she had promptly disconnected that call. Then, on the bad news of things, the unsub now knew the police had connected his crimes and were actively pursuing him, which could send him underground as he obviously had access to global transportation.

"Calm down Knight. I don't think she can hear you," Emily Prentiss lightly teased as she walked in with her usual warmth. Trying to uplift the dismal mood. Ollie would have shot her a look had she not been so busy wallowing. She grumbled into her folded arms, face hidden underneath, "How am I supposed to work under these conditions with the flying news monkeys out front and this stupid fish bowl giving the leak a front row seat to my every movement."

"Well, you could always tell us your preliminary profile on the unsub," Prentiss suggested, not bothering to argue with her on the facts. The other woman was to stubborn to be removed from her current disposition. Lifting her head up with a weighty sigh Ollie shook her head, "No. Not till I've seen the recent crime scene. Then and only then will I divulge my findings."

"You know, it's called a preliminary profile for a reason. It's a first draft till more information becomes available."

"Yes, but as a consultant I don't have that luxury," the blonde stated, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "As I no longer have the backing of a large reputable governmental agency, like the FBI, I have to be extra careful of what I say. If I mess up or bungle things my reputation would be destroyed making it harder for a court of law to find me credible and thus allow killers free. So like I said, once I've seen the crime scene."

Instead of becoming upset like most people would, from what sounded to be a clipped response, Prentiss only nodded her head. She had worked with the woman long enough to know that during an investigation Ollie would close herself to emotion and retreat to a more analytical point of view that could come off as abrasive, but it was her way of coping. Though it was slightly odd to see the other woman so irritated during a case. Even Derek and Penelope had commented on the change of attitude when they were out of earshot. Neither were sure wether her new emotional freedom was a good or bad thing just yet. Seeing that the consultant wasn't about to divulge her secrets she went to leave, "I'll just go see about getting that car then."

"Much appreciated," Ollie shouted as she left, eyes shifting to the glass wall. Crime scene photo's were plastered all over it, partly for privacy and partly because that's how she worked. To be honest she had an ulterior motive for keeping things close to heart in that moment. One look at the list of dates and places the victims were killed was all it took for her to clam up. The conclusion caused her to have to review the information five times, hoping that she had misread something. But unfortunately that was impossible.

Now none, save the first victim, had been identified. Harvey Walden was only known to the police because he had a bit of a hooker addiction, so an officer had recognized him on scene, but otherwise his record was squeaky clean.

Now as for the where the victims were killed, that was the truly eery part. Exactly seven months ago Ollie was in Poza Rica, Mexico chasing down her first lead on the illegal body parts farmed from a few of her franken victims—something that didn't fit in with the killers M.O. A few days after her shake down of a _"parts" _supplier, and consequentially her next lead, did Harvey end up dead. The odd part, it was across the street from her sleazy motel room. Of course people died all the time, so she had thought nothing of it back then and when she had currently had the mexican police file, but her perspective began to shift as she read more reports. It started to paint a twisted picture.

The second victim, male, mid thirties, was killed on a rooftop in Rio de Janeiro. T.O.D. was approximately seven thirty p.m. on the 25th of March. On that day she too was in Rio, pacing the room of a shoddy hostel as she contemplated how to infiltrate the mansion of a drug lord connected to illegal human trafficking to gain access to his books. Now for the interesting part. The man was killed a furlong (one-eighth of a mile) from where she had stayed. Again, she had pushed the odd connection aside as she had come across it. To think it had something to do with her would be a bit pretentious.

Except then there was the third, fourth, and fifth victims; all killed in the course of four weeks in Monte Carlo. In exactly the same length of her stay there. Again, the victims were found near places she had either rented or had visited and again all T.O.D.s put her in the area. The pattern followed the whole of her investigations and so to did the implications. Paris, Cape Town Africa, Egypt, Beijing China, Tokyo Japan, Kyoto, Sydney Australia, Perth, Berlin Germany, Valencia Spain, Naples Italy, Kiev Ukraine and now London, all places she had momentarily stayed in the past seven months. Death had chased her at heels yet she had been so focused, so obsessed with her own investigation, they had past like two ships in the night. Very rarely did she feel simpleminded, unfortunately after being briefed and reading the case materials that was the outcome. And that irritated her to no end.

Even as the evidence stared at her, telling her the killer quite possibly had some sick obsession with her, what with all the love poems he left behind in plain view, she still tried to deny it. After all, she didn't think she possessed any quality worth fixating over. If you couldn't find anything you liked about yourself then how could others.

Before she could grab at her hair in frustration due to the conflicting thoughts, one being the voice of precise reason and profiling experience while the other was of a more emotional paranoid nature, Morgan knocked on the door frame interrupting the internal war. "Hey, we got a car. One of the DI's is going to give us a ride so we should head out while we can."

Letting go of a stressful exhale she tapped the table with her hands, "Thank god. Any longer and I was going to scale the rooftops to get around the news crowds. Pain be damned."

* * *

The roof on Lariston apartments rang silent as the door was propped open with a brick. A nice contrast to the smaller crowd of badgering reporters gathered on Queens Gate bellow. Ollie made it a point to refuse highly publicized case specifically because the media was a hinderance of misinformation that only added to the stupidity displayed by humans when scared. That and she distrusted anyone in general who cared more about earning recognition, awards, and ratings than doing their job dutifully without thanks. Had she known about the leak before hand she would have refused the assignment. But there would be no turning back, the case had already taken root, seeping into her grey matter like a mutated virus, and occupied all her conscious thought. There was no escaping it now.

Uncumbered by the lack of entourage, as they had insisted on the elevator, she walked the crime scene without the distraction of chit chat, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. The functional concrete smoking area had very few furnishings, only employing the bare bones for such a well off living facility. A community owned picnic table sat close to the entrance in despair, names and vulgar phrases etched into the fading wood as cigarettes disgustingly littered it with ash, indicating it was frequently used. From the left overs on the ground she could count about eleven different addicts from the tell tale lipstick marks and ways in which people snuffed out the ends. Though there was probably more, she just didn't see the point to DNA test any to find out. But it spoke of a well trafficked zone, not exactly the best place to kill someone, yet that's what the unsub had done. Murder of opportunity? No, the locale was to out of the way for that.

The only other things up there were a couple of broken lawn chairs laying haphazardly by the thick stone banister that was useless as a barrier; if anything it's bellow waist height rather promoted an accidental spill off the ledge. But it was the sight near it that attracted her consideration. From the outlying stone garden, between the concrete patio and the banister, small rocks had been thrashed about in a mess notifying her of where the unsub had first blitz attacked the victim. A thought itched at the back of her mind. _Why would he be so close to the ledge?_ After all, he wasn't a resident of the building or knew any, the police had checked all floors. So why was he up there in the first place? Suicide? Probably not.

Scuttling over just to the right of the spot where the John Doe had been accosted, she peered down at the street, searching for something that would bring him to the roof. A few nosy photographers snapped a couple pictures upon noticing her but she paid them no mind. Instead to focused on what the victim might have found so interesting to wander into a building he didn't live in for that particular vantage point. One he was so busy with he wouldn't notice a man sneak up behind him.

There weren't really any cafes or stores for a few blocks and it was all mostly residential housing, so it begged the question _what_ was he looking at. Pulling out a little telescope from her pocket she examined the building directly across from her, but as it was two stories down all that was viewable was the slatted roof top. Again nothing of interest. Except, as she scanned the location, peering into every window of the buildings nearby that were accessible from her position, did she notice something. The street entrance to the Huxley building of Imperial College was in perfect range. Ollie swallowed the information as she refolded the telescope. _That proves nothing, _her inner cynic argued, _there's no way to know if he was watching the entrance as I left._

Moving away from the ledge she stopped as something made a grating noise underfoot. Taking a step back a tiny glass fragment sparkled up at her, a few more small pieces clustered beside it. Squatting near the pile she picked up a shard, examining it between her fingers. The chip was to thick to be from a pair of corrective lenses and it was slightly reflective as it let light in. Bringing it close to her eye she peered through it and found everything turned upside down. Pulling it away the consultant stared down at it, her stomach flopping around like a pancake on a skillet. There was only one thing it could have broken off of. A camera lens.

"What, did you run up the stairs?!"

Ollie turned around at the suave masculine musings of Derek Morgan and scoffed. "Of course not, I'm injured. The elevator is just _that_ slow."

DI Lestrade, who had been just as surprised to see Ollie as she had him at the precinct, had been the one to drive them there. He gazed around the scene running a hand through his peppered hair, warm brown eyes hardening as they passed the dried pool of blood. His mouth tightened slightly as he swallowed. He must have been one of the on scene investigators that answered the call. Probably hadn't expected to roll up on such a horrifying sight, but he wasn't some greenhorn, he was to old for that, so memory wasn't about to hinder his functioning. Turning towards the blonde consultant he noted the glinting object in her hand. "What's that?"

"Shard from a camera lens," Ollie informed, traipsing over towards the group, "Did any of the CSI's find one on the victim?"

"No, why?"

"Because the victim came up here to take pictures of something and what ever that was the unsub obviously doesn't want us to know. Else you would have found a camera. Unless…," the ex-profiler trailed off, noting a void in the faded blood pool by Lestrade's feet. Squatting down she traced the outline with a hovering finger. It was oblong in shape, a rectangle of sorts, and the blood seemed to have moved underneath what ever object that had been placed there to a point. Most likely something was to heavy in the middle for it to get past. Then there was a small discoloration in the pattern, that most probably wouldn't perceive but Ollie did. It looked to be the front ends of a pair of pliers.

"Unless what?" Derek prompted with a raised eyebrow. He had forgotten how much he found it frustrating when she stopped mid explanation. Not everyone could follow her thought process like Reed. Hell, those two always seemed to finish each others sentences for the most part. Which was probably why he had taken her absence so hard. Out of the whole team they had had the strongest bond. Everyone was so sure they would end up together one day.

Totally ignoring Derek's question she moved on with her current train of thought as she regained full height, gesturing to her find, "The unsub brought his own tools with him. A duffle bag most likely from this imprint. Shows it was premeditated. And from the locale I'd say the victim wasn't random. He must have been following him, since this is quite out of the way."

Eyes unfocused with thought Ollie flashed back to the crime scene photo's. Moving over every precise injury inflicted, every cut, and body part removed as the victims remained paralyzed to the tortures. The unsub was task orientated and every thing he did was on purpose. He planned his moves. He thought about what he would do next before he did it. And everything was done for shock and awe, but for who? It wasn't for his first obsession, the woman he wrote the poems for. No, the torment and pain inflicted upon the victims were a warning to someone else. Someone who threatened to drive a wedge between him and his obsession. The blonde retreated from memory and turned to the other two men, "I'm ready to give my profile now."

"Alright, just let me get Prentiss on the line," Morgan said, dragging out his cell from his back pocket. He hit speed dial and then speaker. The dial tone rang out three times before the line picked up. "Hey Morgan. What's up?"

Not bothering to let Derek speak and explain, Ollie charged straight into her profile. She didn't see the need for pleasantries when a murderer was on the lose, especially one that may very well be focused on her. "The unsubs Ex-military. Most likely from either Russia, China, or South America as those regions favor dental torture, which was inflicted upon the victims, but I'd lean more toward Russian. His P's are looped in an odd fashion because instinctively he wants to make the russian equivalent, **п**. Now the reason I say he's military is because of the way in which he attacks his victims, he's controlled and precise which speaks to a certain degree of discipline. That and he's strong enough to lift a two hundred pound man from the ledge to the entrance, which is evident from the lack of drag marks. Most likely he's fit and under the age of forty. Now he's smart enough to leave no traces, to use forensic counter measures by cutting off the hands and taking them with him. That way authorities couldn't connect him through the victims personal life, because somewhere their lives intersect and he knows this. So he's careful, which speaks to his state of mind. He isn't on some psychotic break, he's mission orientated. And his mission is to remove all obstacles that drive a wedge between him and his obsession. The woman he leaves the poems for. The violence he shows his victims isn't for her, it's a message to others. One that clears states _stay the hell away from her. _It's why his victims range in age, gender, and race. They don't really matter to him, it's the woman who matters. Find the woman and you'll most likely find him."

"Now what about the heart removal," Prentiss questioned, "doesn't exactly lend to a sane mind frame."

Ollie shrugged and waved off the rebuttal. "I never implied he was sane. That much is sure from his obsession of the woman, but it's just another forensic counter measure. Take the heart and add in the missing limbs and everyones looking for some crazy unhinged man, not a calm controlled person. It's a purposely placed mislead. Like I said he's intelligent. He knows what he's doing. Now, the real question is, did you find the same things I did."

"For the most part. Though we didn't know he was Russian."

"Well, good thing I'm here," Ollie smiled as she walked forward and shut Morgan's phone, ending the call. Derek rolled his eyes, returning his cell to his back pocket. "That wasn't very nice."

She just shrugged nonplussed by her action and pushed past the two men, making for the staircase. Lestrade just watched her, slightly shocked, having found her display of knowledge from such small details astounding. It was like looking at a female Sherlock, that actually took the time to explain. Speaking of which, his mobile buzzed once again for attention underneath his coat. Ignoring it, since he knew it was the consulting detective, he quickly asked the question that had been bothering him before Ollie disappeared to the next floor. "But what about the camera."

She stopped and looked up at the DI, surprised he'd even spoken. It's not that she had forgotten he was there, since that's was a medical impossibility, she just had pushed him out of thought till then. The ex-profiler quirked an eye brow. "What about it?"

"Well, where is it? With the killer or something else?"

She blinked a couple of times, having sworn she had told them already. But then again she had a nasty habit of answering in her head and not speaking it out loud. Some wires were crossed in her brain that she would often perceive speaking when in fact she hadn't. "Huh? Oh, right. Yeah. The kid Kyle Dretton who found the body, yeah, he has it."

"He didn't have a camera when first responders arrived," Lestrade argued, "they would have said something. So how could you possibly know that?"

Seeing as a normal person wouldn't put two and two together she decided to explain, only if to get him off the old information and moving towards the new. "One, he probably stuffed it in his room before the cops came. And two, there was a smudge spot on the back of the John Does neck in the autopsy photo's, rectangular like a strap, from where something had been slipped off. The likely explanation was someone took it after he was dead. Then there's the small almost indiscernible spot in the blood that resembles the edge curvature of a male size eight shoe."

Yelling out the last part, she descended the steps with a cautious speed. Wary of her injured ribs throbbing underneath her coat. Though her pain was momentarily thrust from her mind, to busy going crazy with possibilities of what could be on the camera. Hell, for all she knew the Lindbergh baby could be on it.

Hopping down four flights of stairs she burst through the exit to the ninth floor. A loud clattering echoed behind her as the others attempted to keep up. Power walking down the hall she past 54, 55, and 56 with out a second glance. Her haunting yellow orbs solely focused on her destination. Raising her arms she repetitively knocked on the maroon door of 9-57 with growing speed till it was wrenched open. A large stout woman, dressed in a pale blue lady's pant suit, glared at her in the doorway. "What!?"

"Ah, hello," Ollie hastily smiled, "I'm a consultant with Scotland yard. I just need to sneak a word with your son Kyle real quick."

"Oh yeah!?" she snorted with derision, "Well where's your badge?"

The blonde pointed to the huffing DI racing up accompanied by a slightly peeved and confused expression. Although Derek reached her first. "Right over here."

She clapped and arm around his shoulder and patted it, maintaining her smile. "Show the nice lady here your badge. Please and thank you."

Not exactly sure what was going on he reached for his badge inside his light brown coat. Flipping the smooth black leather holder open to showcase his ID and glinting metal shield to the woman. Not that she even noticed it. The middle aged woman was too busy ogling the man meat standing beside the consultant. Her eyes bounce back and fourth between the silver fox and the coco adonis, not sure who to settle with. She briefly waved her hand, motioning behind her, "Yeah, he's in his room. There are posters all over his door, you can't miss it. Do whatever."

Ollie didn't have to be told twice, and like a vampire that had just been invited in, she stepped past her into the immaculate white living space as if she owned the place, stalking towards the hallway adjoining the kitchen. Morgan managed to slip past the gate keeper before she closed the bridge with her beefy arm, stopping Lestrade. The large woman gave him a once over, like he were a rabbit and she was a wolf, and smiled. "So Detective Inspector," she purred. Whatever she spoke next was out of earshot for the two profilers as they disappeared into the hall, leaving the DI to suffer the advances of a single working mom. God rest his soul.

Quickly moving towards the door at the end, death rock blasting from it, Ollie burst through without a word of warning, scaring the crap out of the punked out teen who scrambled up, wiping his shaggy black hair from his eyes. "Hey, you can't be in here," he shouted glancing towards the door, "Mom!"

"Actually you'll find we can. Your mother was nice enough to give us permission to do as we please," the consultant retorted as she walked across the room and shut the laptop to terminate the ear assaulting noise. Hurriedly she scanned the skull and pentagram covered room not wanting to be there any longer than she had to be as it smelt of weed, dirty grungy laundry, and the quiet shame of masturbation. Moving from postered wall to black dresser she found the coveted item on the shelve of a bookcase filled with cheap satanic brickabrack that any pubescent nimrod could find in a cheesy cult shop. Walking forward she grabbed the broken camera as Morgan held out an arm to stop Kyle should he move after her, but he didn't. The pierced face teen was to busy awing at her for some unknown reason. "Oh my god," he said, "you're the chick."

"Yeah kid, she's from the news." Morgan said, retracting his arm when he realized he teen wasn't about to do anything. Ollie gave the sixteen year old a quick scan before checking the SD card, making sure it was still there. Seeing that it was she switched on the SLR, waiting for the photo's to overtake the black screen. Kyle snorted and rolled his eyes, "Not that you mortal. The camera, the dead bloke seemed to fancy her."

No sooner did the words escape his lip ringed mouth did a close up image of Ollie fill the screen, a candid shot of her bitting on a straw in thought at a cafe a three weeks ago. She swallowed as she pressed forward, scrolling as fast as she could on the device. It was littered with her face, her coming and goings, her talking with her neighbors, her yelling at said raven haired neighbor, but it was the last images that held her attention. They were of her at the college, leaving. Derek immediately snatched the camera from her hands and flicked through the screen for himself, eyes widening with surprise. Before he could say a word Ollie had brushed past him, hurriedly marching out the door. "Hey, Olivia, wait!"

He called after her, but she paid him no mind, quickly moving past the two Brits at the entrance of the apartment. Lestrade watched her leave confused as Derek barreled past him with the camera. Seeing that something was happening he disentangled himself from the uncomfortable conversation and promptly said goodbye to the woman before him, hurrying after the two Americans heading for the exit. Just as Ollie made it into the privacy of the stairwell did Derek catch up with her. Grabbing her arm he spun her around. "What was that all about?"

"It's me!" She whined exasperatedly, running a hand over her face. God how could she have been so blind for seven months! It felt as if she'd just woken up, like she'd been in a coma the whole time abroad. These were the kind of things she usually noticed right off the bat, except she'd been so focus it'd narrowed her mind to other events.

Lestrade pushed through the door just as Ollie pulled her arm back and began pacing the small space. Derek watched the woman with concern as she began to appear manic. He raised an eyebrow."What?"

"It's all about me," she reiterated, "God, I didn't want to think that...I mean it's me we're talking about. I'm not anything fantastic, I've got issues, boat loads of them! So me, really!? Am I supposed to be flattered? Should I be? People are supposed to be upset in this situation right, scared even, but I find I'm just angry. How could I be this thick!"

Morgan stepped forward, interrupting her from ripping at her golden locks, and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to stop a second and look at him. "Hey gorgeous, I need you to calm down and explain."

She sighed heavily, her composure returning as she realized her loss of control, but that manic look in her eye never dissipated. "I'm the woman Derek," she stated, "The Unsubs obsession. As pretentious and self-centered as that sounds. I'm what connects everything. Every place the victims were killed I was near at the time of T.O.D. Hell, the first victim was murdered right across from my motel room! He's been following me all around the world and I hadn't even noticed! What does that make me, huh!? Simple minded? Useless? Am I losing my edge or just a washed up broken-."

Whatever she was to say next ended up muffled and died upon her tongue as Morgan pulled her into an impromptu hug. He knew she didn't particularly care for such shows of affection, even choosing so much as to avoid them if at all possible, but the profiler didn't know what else to do in that moment. He had never seen her so self doubting before, always she had been a picture of high esteem to the point of arrogance. This, this was an unsettling development. One that spoke to the volume of her fall from grace eight months prior. Just how bad had that case fucked her up?

"Hey, there is nothing wrong with you," he assured giving her a gentle squeeze, "You suffered a tragedy. It's just going to take sometime, especially with your mental...prowess."

She stiffened, more so than earlier to the unprompted affection. There it was, one of the things she'd happily and successfully avoided. Pity. Ollie managed to pull herself away with a scowl and looked up at the other man, who instantly realized his folly. "Saying one suffered a tragedy is an excuse normal people use to justify their ineptitude to adapt to a situation Derek. It's the equivalent of calling me a mental invalid."

Before anyone could get into it, and attempt to force her to acknowledge her emotions, Lestrade coughed to gain their collective attention. He could see there was some history and unresolved feelings betwixt the two, though he was fairly sure it wasn't romantic, but none the less he didn't need any domestics so close to a crime scene. It was unprofessional. That and he had questions. "So," he started, "why _are_ you on the victims camera?"

She flipped her hands in the air slightly exasperated, "The hell if I know. I've never even met the guy. Trust me, if I had, I would remember."

"Well it is a bit suspicious," Lestrade commented, gauging the woman's reaction. He was only following years of training, every question must be asked in order to sort out the truth. Derek, hearing the underlying tone moved forward, holding up a hand in defense, slightly offended on Ollie's behalf, "Hey, what exactly are you trying to imply man."

"He thinks I've murdered them because I admitted I was near each victim at T.O.D.," Ollie supplied, folding her arms over her chest. She shrugged clearly not upset by the implied accusation, "It's a valid hypothesis from what little information available to him. I can see why he would think that. Since he's just overheard I've recently been through something. So to him it's plausible that I've gone on some psychotic break and tortured a bunch of people but I assure you, if I was to ever kill someone you'd never know. That and I have a good alibi. Right after I left the college I hailed a cab, number 4519, you can check with the local dispatcher to find the driver. A portly Indian immigrant of four years, who will corroborate this. We had talked about his wife's poor attempts at proper British cuisines. After this I made my way straight to China town where I met with Sherlock. Who would have noticed if I had recently killed the man as I would've most likely had blood on my persons. So now that we've gotten that out of the way I'd like to remind you that the real killer is still on the loose and the metadata on that camera might reveal the victim's identity and possibly a lead if we get it back to Garcia. That and there may even be finger prints on the device."

Without pause she rushed forward and stampeded down the stairs, eager to find more bread crumbs along the path of mystery. The most invigorating part of the job was the chase. Only as she made it to the last step, hovering in a state of displacement on the platform between floor nine and eight, did she realize no one was following her. Annoyed they were pussy-footing around she turned to yell some words of _"encouragement" _to entice them into action. Except things didn't pan out like that.

When her gazed reached the two men above she found herself on the receiving end of a plethora of looks. Lestrade's police instincts were telling him to take her off the case as rules dictated such. They also told him that he needed to protect her as she was a victim, a woman, and currently in danger; all revealed by the new information. Derek, on the other hand, was a bit more conflicted with his emotions as he had a more personal connection to her. On the one hand he felt everything the DI had circled through but, he also knew her to be capable in tough situations and a good asset to have. That she could get the job done and remain impartial.

Ollie's foot tapped restlessly, waiting for the argument she knew was about to commence betwixt the two on how to proceed from there. Her fingers itched at her sides for them to hurry up so they could move forward with the investigation, her mind becoming agitated with the interruption. Morgan's eyes flicked over to her, for only a moment, and suddenly something changed in his demeanor. No longer was there and _our side and his side_ but a _her side and their side_. She felt betrayed by the action, blinking as she watched his opinion change the same way it had the day she had decided to leave the BAU. Like she were a mistreated computer that needed to be repaired, one that no longer functioned properly. And just like that she found herself back in that hospital bed in DC. To the moment where the shift had begun.

_Her mind was fog and sludge weighed down by a cocktail of narcotics as she slipped in and out of existence. Even if Ollie wished to move the effort require couldn't even be comprehended let alone preformed. Her thoughts and memories toggled and shifted to no real thing in particular. One second they were calm, the next it was a bed of hot coals digging through her mind like a tornado, twisting and turning, destroying everything in its wake. But some overwhelming force prompted her fourth, urging her to fight her way out of the jumbled mess. Out of the darkness and into the light. Demanding she find her way back to clarity and escape, but from exactly what she didn't know. Only the action caused a blast of pain to burst and explode behind her eyelids, ones that felt so heavy they might as well been glued shut. A moan managed to escape from the attempt. "Liv?" _

_ The small, almost timid, voice of Spencer Reid choked from beside her as he bespoke the monicker reserved solely for his use. Able to somewhat compute, Ollie realized he must've been crying earlier from the strain of his words. Though the reason as to why eluded her at that moment. A constant beeping that had persisted in the background sped up. Spence shifted from what she assumed was her bedside and tucked a lock from her forehead, moving a cool finger back and fourth across her skin. "Don't worry it's going to be ok."_

_ His assurance seemed to send the earlier erratic sound away. Alleviating some of the pressure beginning to build in her chest from the annoyance it caused. Briefly she wondered what had happened, why she found herself paralyzed underneath a heavy blanket of drugs. Yet the only true thought that managed not to get swept away with the confusion and pain was that she wasn't supposed to be there. Where ever there was. If she could just gain a grasp of lucidity. Maybe then she could sort out events. _

_ "You know you should get some rest." _

_ The coolness that had once caressed her skin in soothing motions instantly receded at the intrusion of Aaron Hotchner. She could hear Spence shuffle away. "How long have you been there?"_

_ "Long enough know," he answered calmly, "Have you told her?"_

_ "No. I don't think I can," Spence plainly explained, quick to find a reasonable excuse, "Besides there are rules against it."_

_ "I think the bureau could make this one exception."_

_ The younger man lightly scoffed. "Hotch you never break the rules and frown upon those who do."_

_ "Yeah, but you're not me." Aaron retorted taking a few steps into the room, his feet sending up clipped polished noises from his federally issued footwear. He stopped a small distance away and a lull fell over them. Ollie could feel their collective eyes upon her, but was helpless to do anything of it. Not that there would have been much she could have done save leave were she operative._

_ "So have the doctors said anything?" Hotch asked, his voice distant yet near, with a small almost imperceivable underlying tone of fear in his otherwise level voice. A crack in his by-the-book-no-nonsense-straight-shooter facade. Then there was a moment of hesitation on the young doctors part._

_ "Yes," Reid started with a slight intake of air, "She woke up for a moment a few hours ago. She was hysterical. Screaming at the top of her lungs as she fought off the orderlies that had to come in to pin her down. She tried to rip off the IV and equipment to get away, accusing them of trying to poison her. It was like she wasn't all there. When they finally managed to sedate her the doctor said there might be some damage to her brain caused by the force of the blast, that she may have changes in thinking and memory. The whole time he was saying this the only thing I could think of was the statistical likelihood of a full recover for patients suffering extensive brain injuries. But what good are statistics when she's-when she's like this. Now they've recommended that she be put into a mental health facility for a couple of weeks for observation and its just..." _

_ He trailed off as the emotion of the event finally overcame him. His fear of loss cropping up as didn't wish for her to end up like his mother, tucked in a facility away from society. Something he knew she couldn't live with either. Ollie and Reid had divulged many secrets over the years, ones never told to others. The most prominent that they both shared was ending up like their mothers. A slave to their own madness, helpless to stop their mind from withering till nothing was left of their former self but a physical echo. _

_ "Spencer, the doctors won't know the full extent of any damage till she's fully awake," Hotch assured, being the ever present voice of reality to separate him form his dark thoughts, "Sometimes after being in such close proximity to an explosive going off rattles the mind a bit. She may have just had an episode of PTSD, in which case she'll be fine after she gets some help. Try not to over think things till all information is available. It'll drive you crazy if you do. Now go get some rest. I'll take watch while you're gone." _

That day, when she had finally woken up, Ollie had noticed the change in herself immediately. Her eyes roamed around the room to take it in yet her mind fixated on only one thing, not even letting her wander to anything else. Like the conversation Reid had been trying to have with her. Instantly she had accused the nurse attending to her of trying to cut off her oxygen by giving her an overdose of muscle relaxant. It was straight to therapy for her after that. Admittedly grabbing a dirty needle and threatening the woman with it hadn't been her shining achievement, but she had just woken up from a medically induced coma after almost dying from a bomb blast so she deserved some slack. They had been dealing with an unsub that persuaded young adults to blow themselves up, taking whoever they deemed had wronged them as targets. She had been convincing a fourteen year old at a high school not to go through with it and kill the auditorium full of students who had mercilessly beaten and bullied him. Even though some probably deserved it. Ollie had succeeded, but the unsub had detonated it remotely. The kid didn't make it. Almost sent her over the edge when she had learned of his fate in the crazy clink. Only reason she hadn't was because she wasn't about to let the psychologist have the satisfaction of watching her fall apart. It's what they had wanted. For her to deal with her emotions publicly.

When her mandatory three weeks had been over the recommendation had been clear._ While we find that the subject is extremely intelligent and has extraordinary memory capabilities her lack of cooperation and hostile proclivities towards opening up in tandem with her inability to connect with others from a general mistrust leads us to believe she is a liability to the FBI. Her constant paranoia and often at times inappropriate outbursts are most likely due to not only underlying childhood trauma but PTDS from the accident. We recommend that she have regular therapy sessions of five times a week, till otherwise noted, should she wish to resume her position._ It was during that time she had racked the biggest number of screaming psychologist in her 13-O tally. Of course the whole time she was at that stupid facility the therapists had been trying to convince her that the accusations levied against the nurse were wrong, and that she should feel remorse for her actions. But she had refused, sticking to her guns. They had been persistent even after they had found out the blonde was right a week into her stay. Turned out the unsub that had put her in the hospital had disguised _herself_ as a "nurse" laboring to finish the job. And they wondered why she had a mistrust of people when they so easily lied.

So Ollie found herself once again staring at that face; the kind that regarded her as mentally fragmented and thus not capable of rational decisions. Only this one came from someone she knew, someone she respected and had care for, and that hurt. And when hurt she tended to shut off, to drain of emotion and simulated politeness. Cocooning herself in a harden shelf of facts and reason to cushion the blow. Preemptively she answered Derek's unspoken command, "No."

"I haven't said anything yet," Morgan said scrutinizing her every move, as if he couldn't trust the new her. In retrospect her agitation must have been the underlying factor to his altered outlook. He had known a different Ollie. Quite a contrasting animal back then. A foreign thing. Closed off, analytical, emotionless, but Monroe had changed that. His influence, those bright and shining two years, had put her on a different path. He had helped heal wounds that had long since scabbed over and been ignored, awaking her from a slumber she hadn't know she had taken. But he was gone. And if she were to truly admit it, never had she felt more lost. She had become dependent upon his existence. Surprisingly he had accepted the ex-profiler with silent understanding and possessed the innate aptitude to compromise around her expecting nothing in return. A rare gift she had, to her regret, often exploited. She had been happy for the first time in a long time. But alone was what she deserved. Alone she couldn't hurt anyone. Nor could they hurt her.

The consultant flicked her eyes across Derek's jaw, watching the tick of agitation form. He had always hated it when she could so easily predict his train of thought, but he didn't make it very hard. With cold dead eyes she bore into the profiler, "You were going to and the answer is no. I refuse protection."

"Olivia, there is a serial killer with fantasy designed around you. From the profile he's most likely a big guy, you're injured and even if you weren't you couldn't fend him off," Morgan supplied, "Due to all the news coverage he's going to want to abduct you as he'll want to go underground but he can't live without his obsession. Don't make me remand you into custody."

Ollie managed to retain her calm cold exterior, even as her insides roiled at his assumption that she was weak. The consultant could defend herself despite his conjecture, she needn't use her hands to do so. That's what guns were for. "You don't have the authority."

"No," Lestrade piped in, "But I do."

With a sharp snap she leveled her glare upon the DI who pulled out a pair of hand cuffs, "So what's it going to be?"

The ex-profiler gave him a bored once over raising an eye brow and with a deep breath proceeded to open her mouth in response.

* * *

To say Olivia Knight was furious was an understatement. By order of male chauvinistic decree she had been remanded into police custody for her own _safety_. Though her _fuck you _wasn't the most intelligent response, but when dealing with idiots she saw no need to make clever conversation. Why waste her words on those who wouldn't listen. Apparently she could deal with being wired to a bomb, buried alive in a fridge, and subjected to electrical torture but she couldn't handle a serial killer with fantasies designed on her. Not to mention all the other twisted cases she'd been involved in that were much worse than the current one.

She was lucky she'd been able to argue to be sent home instead of back to the police station. That would have been humiliating, not that it already wasn't. Being escorted and guarded by seven officers was appalling. The only reason she had so many was apparently she was a flight risk. Which was true, Ollie had planned to sneak away through the small window in her bathroom, but now it would be impossible without assaulting an officer and ending up back to where she had bargained out of. But if she played her hand right, there might be a way to stay on the case in more of a silent partner capacity. Her ace in the hole only need agree to the terms and he'd get what he wanted. By then he had to know about the serial killer. He was most likely the one ringing Lestrade every five or so minutes. The call the silver haired man kept avoiding. Which told her he was eager. Something that played in her favor.

Filing out of the back of a squad car she slipped her hand out of her folded coat lying over her arms and raised her cuffed wrists to the officer holding the door open. "Gonna let me out since we're here?"

"I suppose," the officer frowned, unsure of his answer or if he could trust her not to run. She smiled before taking them off, apparently having unlocked them earlier and just waiting to ask as not to cause trouble. Ollie handed them over as she walked past the lanky man to the stoop of 221 Baker Street. "Good, these are yours then."

Climbing the stone steps she pulled out her house key incase the door happen to be locked. Twisting the slightly ornate knob she found that it was not the case and pushed through with ease, holding in an aggravated noise as the two officers hovered right behind her, almost tripping over the other as they followed. Each were under strict orders not to let her wander out of sight. She'd get around that. After all, she needed to get rid of a few sensitive things. It wouldn't be long till the others started asking why the unsub killed those people and came to her with questions. Questions she couldn't answer. Question that would create mistrust and thus the right to search her home for clues, having worked out that reason in the back of the cruiser. Anger was a fine motivator to spark deductive thought.

Already she was two steps ahead of the rest in the investigation and planning her next move, she waltzed across the foyer with an almost lethal glide. Her thoughts chaotic yet formulating moves on an invisible chessboard. However before she could make way to the descending stairs loud steps thundered down from above. From the gait and sound she could tell it was John, but it was the quieter more poised footfalls they were trailing after that held her ear. Appeared she wouldn't need to spring her strategy by eliciting a reaction on her neighbors part to catch his attention as he was coming to her. Made things a little simpler.

Stopping abruptly, almost causing the officers to slam into her, she folded her arms and patiently waited for her quarry to appear around the corner in his usual privileged stride. As predicted he quietly marched into view, his sharp eyes immediately burned across her. He was upset she could tell. Not that he'd ever describe it as such, but from the way held himself up higher, to unconsciously make himself that much taller and intimidating, to the way he controlled his breathing clued her in. Sherlock was most likely about to make a confrontation. She could already see his reasoning in her head. From all the collected data of spending time with him down to his personality and upbringing he honestly believed the case should be his. That when the force was making calls for help the first should have been to him, not her. And now that she was home he was about to chew her out and worm his way onto the investigation in a round about way, as Holmes don't ask for help. Well, not when there was pride on the line at least. What he didn't know was that Ollie was going to make sure he got his way. For a price of course. So she would skip his theatrics and move straight to the proposal.

The moment the consulting detective glided down, his eyes never leaving hers, did John fly around the corner. Exasperatedly he reprimanded his friend with a warning, most likely aware of what he was about to do. "Sherlock."

Ollie almost laughed at his attempt to dissuade the coming situation. There was only one way to stop Sherlock from doing anything and that would be to kill him, but seeing as neither party had the stomach for outright murder he would continue his way right over to the ex-profiler, till he was staring down at her with what little height difference they had, which was roughly a head and a half by the way, and berate her till he got what he wanted.

The clash of words was immediate, drowning out her preemptive _yes, I'll get you on the case_ to his round about infiltration. Unfortunately for Ollie he started with her character, each baritoned word like the precise crack of a whip over unhealed flesh. "Do you really believe that you can preform in an investigatorial capacity when it's quite clear you're a hair breaths away from a mental break down due to the seriously lacking skills in which you executed throughout your last case that led to the deaths of several women including someone exceedingly dear to you. All due to the fact that you were so blinded by your own ego that you couldn't glimpse the larger picture that you had in fact been profiled by the serial killer himself, so he knew you enjoyed the interesting cases and pandered to that exact sentiment in order to distract you. Quite easily I'm afraid. Let's not even get into the fact that for the past seven months you have been involved in something that came to your attention right after that case. Most likely involving it in some function or other. One I will get to the bottom of later, but before we move on lets revisit the fact the you have yet to fully process the death that so catastrophically effect you, causing you to withdraw from the world for weeks after the event. One that still haunts you today and makes you a liability as any moment the drawbacks of your superior autobiographical memory could send you catatonic like you almost succumbed to at witnessing the death of Soo Lin. As it brought forth the dead body of-"

_Smack! _The sound vibrated throughout the foyer as Sherlocks head twisted slight to the side, his cheek already started to pinken from the contact. Ollie brought her hand back calmly and took a hefty breath."As I recall I told you never to bring that up. Now," She sniffed squaring her jaw, "you Neanderthal, I'm going to get you on the case despite your asinine behavior. Next time, before you go running your mouth, why don't _you_ look past your _own_ pride and take a moment to assess the situation first. Because if you had you'd see I am not here of my own volition, but by a surprisingly fast court order."

Half expecting him to continue on or smack her back, as his rigid posture lent to the idea, she was quiet fine with the glaring look she instead received. Though most would say it was his normal face. Quickly, and almost imperceivably, he snapped his eyes to the men behind her noting the empty handcuffs held in the hands of one and remembered the way in which each had assessed the room upon his entry. On closer inspection he could spot the earwigs curling wires looping out of their ears. "You've been remanded into protective custody."

Ollie clapped sarcastically at his statement, "Congratulations on finally seeing the _larger picture_. Funny how it can so easily be missed."

John, who had been holding his breath through most of the battle of catty intellects, snapped out of his stupor. Taking a few worried steps down he asked the question that had popped into his head, invoked by a single sentence. "Why were you remanded into custody?"

Ollie, as it was a sore subject, tried not to twitch but didn't manage to suppress the aggravated growl the question elicited. "Male biological stupidity, that's why. Also, I was voted off the island, but despite that I can still get you guys onto the case. I happen to know the new head of the London office. I only need Sherlock to do one simple thing for me, nothing major or invasive. And no, it's not to apologize nor is it groveling."

Hastily pulling out her cell she brought up her saved drafts folder and selected the only file inside. Hitting options she sent it to both her neighbors, though only Sherlocks phone pinged as he had it on him. Obviously still expecting a call back from Lestrade. Thankfully, for all parties involved, he kept all his comments to himself and pulled out his mobile to read the text before telling her he outright refused. After all, he didn't take the _tit for tat_ arrangements his older brother continuously threw at him so he wasn't about to concede the matter for his female neighbor either. Flipping it open he raised an eyebrow at the asking price of admittance.

_In return for getting you on the case all I ask is that you let me know of any major developments; as the outcome of the investigation greatly affects my well being. Something you will find out for yourself once briefed or have scanned through the crime scene photos. _

Swiveling his electric blue orbs to her impassive face Sherlock took a languid blink before sending her a droll glower. "No-"

"I'll give back what I took from your apartment or I'll throw it into an incinerator and you'll never see it again," the female consultant swiftly interrupted. A poignant paused filled the room. The two officers behind her shifted awkwardly, unsure of what was transpiring before them, but knew when to keep quiet. Both had experiences with mister Holmes and neither wished to be verbally dissected by taking even the wrong breath of air. Especially as his deductive eye roved the blondes very being, piercing across her soul and unfolding every tawdry secret to the light. At least that's what the two interpreted the consulting detectives look as.

Sherlocks eyes slightly widened, for the flash of a millisecond, at the realization of what was taken. "My skull."

"Pocketed it a while back," Ollie admitted, "Just in case of an emergency."

She smiled quite sure she was to get her way on the matter. Thought her neighbors gaze promised retribution and retaliation. A possibility she had found unavoidable, but necessary if she wanted to achieve her goal. Tapping her fingers across the cell keys she began dialing a number, addressing her soon to be replacement as she went about her business. "Would you like for me to fill you in or would you prefer to deduce your own conclusions on the situation."

He was only slightly backed into a corner and still his hackles were raised, not appreciating the fact that his own goal had not been achieved by his design. He was loath to admit that she played the game well. Planning in advance and making intellectual deductions on his otherwise guarded persons. Ollie had taken something he had only a small sentimental attachment to, a lot by Sherlock standards. Something he would have to purge from his mind palace. It was a weakness he hadn't realized he'd had till then. The only good thing to come out of that whole exchange was that the issue had come to light. The _feeling _would be neutralized within the hour, if not sooner. Only at that present moment did she have a tiny semblance of leverage. Something he would soon eradicate. No one ever outsmarted him and if they did it wasn't celebrated for long. But, in a way that wasn't intended, he was soon to be officially on the case. So he'd play of the ruse that she had bested him by conceding to her whim, all the while formulating a plan to prove her's futile and a waste. Basically causing it to essentially blow up in her face. He sniffed with slight derision and briskly brushed past her towards the front door. "I don't need your clouded assertions. My method will be more than satisfactory."

"Alright," Ollie stated choosing to ignore his jab, "surprise it is."

As the dial tone rang in her ear the door lay open behind her as he step out onto the street. Seeing the army doctor was about to follow after the tall man she expedited her attentions to him. As the more emotional of the two, not to mention the one with an honorable moral code, he was the most likely to make sure her plan was implemented. Especially since he was sending her apologetic looks in regards to Sherlocks earlier verbal vivisection. "John," she addressed, "make sure he sticks to the agreement. I've forwarded you the text as well, just to avoid any confusion or deception predicated by his nature. So you might want to make a grab for your cell before you chase after him. Please."

"Ollie, what exactly is going on?"

She swallowed, but not from fear or any of the other silly things women in her position would consider themselves possessed by, but from a general disappointment in her own lacking skills. Because Sherlock had confirmed a notion she had long since begun to suspect. She had lost her investigative edge. "You'll find out once you've arrived at the precinct. I assure you."

Not wanting to hear anymore questions she strode towards her staircase just as the other line picked up. "Ah. Hello Emily. Seeing as you're down a member I have a suggestion…."

* * *

_Sorry if there are any mistakes. I was half asleep writing the last part and wanted to get through it so i could get it up and move on to finishing a chapter of my who story then returning here as fast as i can with my throbbing fingers. Hope I'm not developing carpal tunnel, the villainous enemy of every writer. :P I'll fix things in the morn...which basically means four in the afternoon. What!? It's the beginning of vacation, i have to christen it with sleeping in to an absurd time. :)_


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